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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705502">Our Stars Aligned</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsuesparrow/pseuds/sweetsuesparrow'>sweetsuesparrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, accidental allies to lovers, be proud of me for that, but just a little :), hux is just having a bad time in general, i'll add relevant tags when i write the sex, poe and hux meet much earlier, so there's angst, we're here to have fun but its hux we're talking about</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:26:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsuesparrow/pseuds/sweetsuesparrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At 20, Poe Dameron is the New Republic Navy’s youngest covert operative, working deep undercover within the Kijimi Spice Runners.  His four year infiltration has gone off without a hitch, building to what is supposed to be the sting operation that will make his career.  Unfortunately fate has  other plans.  Things take a disastrous turn when a mysterious group of Imperial Remnants calling themselves the First Order arrest Poe and the spice runners before the New Republic can reach them.   It goes from bad to worse when Poe’s captor, the ambitious young Captain Hux, discovers his secret mission and threatens to blow his cover.  But Hux too is more than he seems.<br/>At 22, Captain Armitage Hux is a prodigy - the leading member of a top secret weapons development team for the fledgeling First Order.  The weapon he is designing would cement the Order’s power in the galaxy, and launch Armitage into a position of unprecedented power.    But the cost of victory is the lives of trillions.  Fear for his own life and certainty that the First Order’s rise to power is inevitable has kept Armitage from running away so far, but when an undercover New Republic navy officer falls into his clutches, he sees his chance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Poe Dameron &amp; Armitage Hux, Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so excited to share the first chapter of this new fic!  Please consider it my apology for the emotional torture that was my last long fic, Not For Nothing!  I promise adventure, smut, and a happy ending to come.  If you haven't already, please feel free to check me out on tumblr at queenphasma!<br/>Illustration to accompany the chapter here: https://queenphasma.tumblr.com/post/637052117064007680/new-fic-the-first-chapter-of-my-new-fic-our-stars</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>- Poe - </p><p> </p><p>“How far out are we?”  Zorii Bliss was sitting with her feet propped up on the control panel - taking up extra space to compensate for nerves, Poe thought.  Her fingers drumming on the helmet resting in her lap betrayed her.</p><p>“Ten minutes 'til we break atmo on Adumar,” said Poe.  “And you know, asking every two minutes isn’t getting us there any faster.”  He cracked a smile as he glanced over at his brooding comrade.  He was anxious too, though he doubted his reasons were the same as Zorii’s.  It wasn’t second thoughts he was feeling, but there was a trace of guilt there.</p><p>“Don’t get smart with me, Dameron.”  She snapped, her fingers abruptly stopping their tapping on the helmet.  “Take this seriously.  This is huge.  If this goes well - if this contact is all they say they are - if they can deliver and we don’t screw up on our end - we’ll be the first spice running operation to open up trade with the Unknown Regions - a whole new supply line - one that’s never been throttled by the New Republic or the Empire.”</p><p>“I know,” Poe said <em> - I know more than you think - more than you could possibly guess </em>.  “I know.”</p><p>“Four years ago the Kijimi Spice Runners were nothing - just a small time operation. Now we’re running the biggest cartel in the Mid Rim.  This - it’ll <em> make us </em>, Poe, we’ll own the underworld.”  </p><p>Sometimes when Zorii talked about the Kijimi Spice Runner’s expansion, she got a gleam in her eye that reminded Poe uncannily of her mother Zeva.  Zorii had a good heart in her - didn’t relish cruelty and avoided death and unnecessary backstabbing where she could, but sometimes the fire in her eyes burned so hot and bright Poe worried it would consume the galaxy given the chance. It was no accident she'd taken the Kijimi Spice Runners from a small-time gang to a cartel with distributors across the mid rim.  She had all her mother’s ambition and twice her cunning, and if she wasn’t stopped soon, who knew how far she’d go or how long that good heart of hers would hold out.  He'd urged his contacts to order their men to use non-lethal force if possible.  He didn't want to see Zorii hurt, just captured. He hoped when the moment came that she realized he had betrayed her, that that would count for something.</p><p>“And what precisely do you know about this contact,” a voice hissed from the back - Ariss, a trandoshan female dressed head to toe in furs that smelled uncomfortably fresh.  She was a new recruit Zorii had chosen to bring along as muscle.  </p><p>“Not much,” Zorii admitted, her fingers resuming their drumming on her helmet.  “They’re a supplier located outside the New Republic’s influence - a good distance into the Unknown Regions.  They sent a sample of their product.  It’s the real deal.  I had a droid analyze it on the molecular level.  Not like anything grown or made in the galaxy proper.”</p><p><em> Spice made in a New Republic lab </em> , Poe thought, <em> wonder how much fun they had trying to make the most perfect stuff - so perfect Zorii Bliss herself would risk coming out after it </em>?</p><p>“But are they trustworthy?”  Ariss pushed.</p><p>“Of course not,” Zorii snapped, “that’s why you’re here.  Everyone’s more trustworthy with a blaster in their face.”</p><p>“They’d be more trustworthy with more blasters aimed at them.  Three’s a small party for something like this.”</p><p>“This is a delicate meeting on neutral territory,” their leader explained, using almost the exact same wording Poe had used to justify it to her days before.  “Showing up with a small army would make it look like we were compensating for something.  Besides, they know who I am.  If they make a move on us, they bring the whole cartel on their heads.”</p><p>“Entering Adumar’s atmosphere now,” Poe cut in.  “You sure this is the right spot?”  He squinted through swirling yellow-tinted clouds at the empty clearing they were descending towards before glancing up to look at Zorii.  Of course, he already knew the answer to his own question.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said, her fingers still drumming on the helmet. “These are the coordinates the contact sent.  We’re just early.”</p><p>Poe hummed his acknowledgement.  Zorii always preferred to be early, to get a lay of the land before their contacts showed up just in case things went sour, but no amount of preparation would save the Kijimi Spice Runners from the sting the New Republic had planned.</p><p>Poe didn’t know too much about Adumar.  He left the research to his contacts in the NRI and let them feed him the most important points.  He knew that the site chosen for the meeting was, as Zorii said, neutral territory.  Neutral when it came to the spice business, but not neutral when it came to the New Republic.  Like most planets this far out, it didn’t have much in the way of planet-wide law enforcement.  There was no need to consult with any local government before setting up their sting - no one to make a fuss about it.  And if for some reason someone did make a fuss, well Adumar was still technically part of the New Republic, and the needs of the galactic government took precedence over the preferences of local government.  They couldn’t interfere, and realistically they couldn’t complain either.  Adumar didn’t even have a sitting senator.  Not that there was any reason to expect Adumar to take issue with the sting.  After all, bringing down spice dealers made their skies safer too.  </p><p>It would be quick, and hopefully painless, and then Poe Dameron’s career would be made - the youngest covert operative in the New Republic navy, bringing down one of the biggest spice running operations in the galaxy.  He’d get a promotion for sure - his own squad, his pick of missions, but more than that, he’d finally get to go home.  He hadn’t seen his dad in four years, not since this whole thing started.  Even sending comms to the old man risked compromising his cover.  He had been sixteen years old the last time he breathed the air on Yavin 4.  It was supposed to be a short-term thing - infiltrate and observe the Kijimi Spice Runners by getting close to the leader’s daughter, Zorii.  But, a year in, when the daughter had overthrown her mother and Poe had stepped in to help Zorii, everything had changed.  The navy offered to get him out, but they made it clear that if he stayed - kept feeding them intel from his position close to the spice runner’s new leader - he could be a real hero.  Of course he’d agreed.  Who passed up the chance to be a hero?  But he was ready for it to be over, at least for a while.  He was twenty years old, and he was bone tired, as if he had lived twice as long.</p><p>“Engaging landing gear,” he said, finally bringing the ship down in the clearing, sending ripples through the brown sea of grass.  “No sign of anyone else nearby.”  </p><p>“Good,” Zorii nodded, lifting her helmet from her lap and lowering it onto her head.  “Like I said, we’re early.  I’d be worried if we had company.  Now,” she said as Poe shut down the ship’s engines and lowered the ramp, “you check the area out - make sure it's clear,” this directed at Ariss.  “Poe, get the cash out of the safe and make sure you count it before you put it in the case.  I’m not losing this deal over an accounting error.”</p><p>“Will do, boss.”  Poe gave a smirk and a salute, trying to lighten the mood and dispel a little of his own and Zorii’s anxiety.  “And what’re you gonna do?”</p><p>“I’ll keep watch,” she said, rising to her feet and making for the ramp.  “Never know when our contact’ll decide to show up.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”  But Poe knew, down to the minute.  They had another hour to kill.  Another hour of guilt worrying his guts like a starving anuba, of every possible disaster scenario playing in his mind on a loop.</p><p>He busied himself with counting credits.  Before his time with the spice runners, Poe had never seen large amounts of cash.  It wasn’t as if his family was poor, but they didn’t keep credits lying around - certainly not in the tens - or in this case hundreds of thousands.  It made sense why this life tempted people.  Hell, there had been times when he had imagined filling a bag with credits and running off, leaving the spice runners and the New Republic behind and betting it all on some sabbac game in Canto Bight.  Maybe he’d get rich, or maybe he’d lose it all, but he wouldn’t care.  He’d be free.  </p><p>But that was a fantasy, and this was blood money, he reminded himself, earned from jobs that had cost lives, or at least made them markedly worse.  It had to be stopped.  He was doing the right thing.  He could live it up when this was all over - let sunlight bake the last few years from his mind as he lay on some resort world beach.  He forced himself to focus on counting - not that it mattered - not that there would be a trade.  </p><p>Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen hundred…</p><p>He studied the cargo hold of the ship.  It was an old hunk of junk which Babu Frik had barely been able to patch up and make spacefaring again.  Perfect for flying under the New Republic’s radar, and for making them a less appealing target to passing pirates but not fit for combat.  If Zorii saw the New Republic coming and decided to take their fight to the sky, it would be disastrous.  If it came to that, the team had their orders.  Zorii Bliss couldn’t get away.  Poe had always known what he was signing up for.</p><p>Suddenly the silence was obliterated by a deafening roaring from overhead.  A ship - but it was too early.  This was wrong.</p><p>“Hear that?”  Zorii said through the commlink, “must be or contact.  Ariss, get back here.  Poe, out.  Regroup at the ship.”</p><p>Poe felt for the blaster at his side as he sealed the credits in the locked metal case and made for the ramp.</p><p>The shuttle that was making a steep descent towards them was definitely not New Republic.  Not even the kind of ship they’d use to cover up a stealth op.  It was a boxy thing with two wings and a high dorsal fin.</p><p>“Something’s wrong,” he muttered to Zorii.  “That’s an old Imperial shuttle.  I don’t think it’s our contact.”</p><p>“The war’s been over for years, Poe.  Imperial ships are all over the place.  Besides, maybe our contact has some old ties- who cares?  Don’t go making your parents’ war my problem.”</p><p>“Trust me on this,” he urged her through gritted teeth.  “Trust my gut.  It hasn’t been wrong yet.”</p><p>“I’m not giving up this deal because of your gut.”  Her tone was final.  Poe couldn’t budge her without betraying his own mission.  They could face whatever was in that shuttle, at least until the New Republic arrived.</p><p>“Fine,” he said, “but let the record reflect - I have a bad feeling about this.”</p><p>“Duly noted.”  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes behind her helmet’s visor.</p><p>Across the clearing the shuttle touched down, and despite her earlier protests, Poe noted Zorii’s hand twitching towards her blaster.</p><p>He never did figure out who started shooting first - them or the troopers that emerged from the shuttle.  All he knew was that one moment, the whole clearing was still and silent, and the next the silence cracked like an egg and the air was full of the light and sound and heat of blaster bolts.  One narrowly missed his shoulder, leaving a dark char on the ship behind him.</p><p>“I’m gonna say it,” he shouted to Zorii, dropping one of the advancing troopers as he backed up and took cover behind the ramp, the spice runner’s leader joining him.</p><p>“Do <em> not </em> say I told you so, Dameron, I swear to the void I’ll kill you.”</p><p>“I think I’ve earned the right-” he leaned back out, taking out another trooper with a precise shot to the head.  The helmets - Poe noted - there was something off about them - something different.  And the armor was too clean.  This wasn’t normal.  These weren’t some ragged remnants of the Empire.  Wrong was piling on wrong.</p><p>Ariss dropped another trooper before a bolt finally caught her in the chest and she went down.  </p><p>“Get away from the ship!”  Zorii barked, suddenly springing to her feet and breaking into a sprint.</p><p>“What?  Hey get back to cover!”  He didn’t want Zorii killed by the New Republic, and he really didn’t want her killed by whoever these people were.</p><p>“Look up, idiot!  And get away from the ship!”</p><p>Poe looked up just in time to see the TIE fighter entering bombing range - the bright green of a laser blast firing.  He sprinted faster than he ever had in his life, and flung himself bodily across the clearing, hitting the ground just as the blast hit the ship.  </p><p>There was heat - no air and then too much of it as the shock wave struck him with a blast of searing hot wind.  He kept his eyes shut, but he still saw the flash as the ship went up - felt the heat of it on his face even as he curled in on himself for protection, covering his head and neck as he had been taught in training.  All he heard was an incessant - ear piercing ringing that reverberated through his brain.  He might have been screaming.  His mouth was open.  He tasted smoke.</p><p>The first sound he heard besides the ringing was the click of a blaster rifle in his face.  He opened his eyes, squinting up to see troopers surrounding him, and behind them, Zorii with her hands up being patted down.  One of the troopers had taken her helmet and her hair was dishevelled - halfway out of its low, tight bun.</p><p>“Get up, scum,” the trooper ordered, a male voice crackling through a vocoder.  “You’re outnumbered.  Your friend has already surrendered.”</p><p>Kriff.  Shit.  Fuck.  Every curse he’d ever heard in his travels around the galaxy ran through his head.  Whoever these people were - Imperial remnants serving some warlord, gangsters playing dress up - it didn’t matter.  They had him outnumbered and outgunned and the New Republic was going to get here too late.  Of all the worst-case scenarios that had run through his head, this was not one of them.  Still, surrendering did seem to be the best course of action.  He could figure a way out of this later, but only if he survived.  He kept his cool as best he could between his panic and the residual ringing in his ears, and rose to his feet, letting the troopers shuffle him into line with Zorii.  </p><p>There were seven troopers surrounding them, he noted.  Four lay dead on the ground.  There was the TIE fighter too, circling above them like a scavenger bird above a carcass.  His blaster had been blown from his grasp in the explosion, but if he could get his hands on one, he was confident he could manage these odds.  But for now, he was unarmed.  All he could do was play along.</p><p>“Okay guys,” he said, keeping his hands raised.  “I think we got off on the wrong foot here, what with all the shooting.  Let’s take it easy.”</p><p>“Just fall in line.”  The trooper snapped. He produced a compact datapad and began taking notes. “Names?”</p><p>“Zorii Bliss,” said Zorii, “of the Kijimi Spice Runners.”</p><p>“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”  The trooper asked, somehow managing to convey how unimpressed he was even through the helmet.</p><p>Zorii faltered, clearly shocked to run into someone who wasn’t aware of the weight that name carried.  “If you don’t know who we are now,” she said, regaining control and putting on a haughty sneer, “you will when you make an enemy of us.  Let us go now and you’ll never have to find out.”</p><p>The trooper let out a hum that was less than impressed.  “And you?”  He asked Poe.</p><p>He wouldn’t give them his name and risk being found out.  If these people were pretending to be Imperials, they couldn’t have any love for the New Republic.  However harshly they might treat him thinking he was a spice runner, it couldn’t be worse than how they would treat a New Republic navy officer.  He needed a fake name.  </p><p>“Jar Jar Binks,” he said without missing a beat, “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you but well… you know.”</p><p>The trooper with the datapad paused, seeming to study Poe through his helmet, but wrote it down all the same.</p><p>“The criminal scum have been subdued,” another trooper was saying into his commlink, “we’re ready for you, Captain Hux.”</p><p>“Very good.”  A voice answered, not from the commlink but from some distance behind them.  </p><p>Poe craned his neck to look, only to have the back of his head jabbed with the tip of a trooper’s blaster rifle.</p><p>“Well, this is quite the interesting little crew, isn’t it?”  The voice drew closer, and finally the speaker came into view.  </p><p>A young man - tall and thin, around Poe’s age and dressed in a crisp, light grey uniform and cap with some strange insignia on it.  Like the trooper’s armor, it looked Imperial but one degree removed.  Beneath the cap, red hair combed back with precision, and a pale, pointed face - one which might be attractive if it wasn’t twisted in an infuriatingly smug expression.</p><p>“You know,” he said, pacing before the two prisoners, hands clasped behind his back.  “I’ve never seen two groups of you brigands that look alike.  You’re always varied, unique.  Always fascinating.  But really, deep down, you're all the same.  You come to the Outer Rim to do your dirty business, wreak havoc, just because the New Republic is too blind and bloated to enforce the law so far from the Core.  You don’t care for the people here, or the infrastructure of these worlds.  You think only of your dirty profits.  I’m sure you think you’re quite clever, coming to Adumar, all your kind think you’re clever.  But you’re not.  You’re stupid and you’ve been allowed to become complacent, and now that order is returning to the Outer Rim, your time is up.  Adumar has contracted us to enforce order where the New Republic cannot.  They are not the first planet to do it, nor will they be the last.”</p><p>Poe couldn’t suppress a smirk. With the way this guy was monologuing, maybe the New Republic would arrive in time to save him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the young man stopped in front of Poe, green eyes flashing from beneath the brim of his cap, “did I say something amusing?”  </p><p>Beneath his smugness and his stiff spine, Poe sensed something else about Hux - something humming and buzzing like a fire wasp nest.  Insecurity, Poe thought.  This was a man trying to prove something to someone - to everyone.  It was obvious in the tightness of his voice, the intensity of those green eyes burning through the veneer of pompousness he was trying to establish with his sneer.  That made him dangerous.  It also made provoking him irresistible.  </p><p>“No, no,” Poe shook his head, his smirk spreading, “nothing funny.  I just keep getting distracted by your whole… you know, outfit.  The Empire’s gone, you know.  That uniform’s about twenty years out of style.”</p><p>“Tone it down.”  Zorii hissed through gritted teeth.</p><p>“You should listen to your friend,” said Captain Hux, studying him with those burning, unstable green eyes.  “But you’ll learn the strength of the First Order soon enough.”  He turned to the nearest trooper.  “Take them to the transport.  We’ll bring them back with us to rendezvous with the fleet.  They can be reconditioned to serve in the mines or the foundries.”</p><p>“Yes sir, Captain Hux.”  The trooper saluted.   </p><p>“Wait!”  Zorii blurted out.  “We have connections - money.  We had three hundred thousand credits in a case that probably got vaporized when you blew up our ship, but that’s nothing to our people.  There’s a lot more where that came from.  Name your price - credits, weapons, spice - I promise we can meet it.”</p><p>Hux stopped in his tracks and pivoted to stride back to Zorii, leaning into her space.  “I promise you,” he said, lip curling in a sneer, “there’s nothing you have that I could possibly want.”</p><p>With that, he turned and headed for the shuttle.  Poe and Zorii were herded along behind, prodded by the trooper’s blasters.  They rode with the troopers in what was clearly a cargo hold, while Hux rode up front with the pilot.  Poe had been inside old imperial shuttles, rotting in shipyards in his youth.  This was, undoubtedly, an imperial design, but it couldn’t have been built more than ten years ago.  The materials were too new. The controls, when Poe glimpsed them on his way to the back, were too modern.  When he got out of here - if he got out of here - he’d have quite the report for the NRI.  </p><p>There had been whispers for years of Imperial remnants eking out a living in the Unknown Regions.  But all reports described them as just that - remnants.  Warlords and fugitives, choosing a hard life in uncharted space over facing their crimes.  This ship, the troopers’ armor, Captain Hux’s uniform - these weren’t the trappings of a remnant.  This - what had Hux called it? - First Order - was more than a remnant - more than a ghost.  It was real - it had funds and materials.   <em> Order is returning to the Outer Rim </em> , Hux had said, <em> you’ll learn the strength of the First Order soon enough </em>.  Whatever this First Order was, it was a threat.  </p><p>He watched Adumar, and any hope of rescue get smaller and smaller in the back viewport of the shuttle, until it was lost entirely as their ship was swallowed by a larger one - gliding into a brightly lit hangar bay.  Poe counted thirteen more troopers in the hangar bay and twenty-three docked TIE fighters.  Hux had mentioned a fleet.  This was just one part of a fleet.  Poe felt sick - but more than that he felt a hardening determination.  He had to get back - had to survive to report this to the New Republic.</p><p>He and Zorii exchanged a glance as they were herded off the ship.  Her expression was hard and cold, but her fear was palpable.  It had been a long time since she had come up against someone who so clearly didn’t care who she was or how powerful the Kijimi Spice Runners were.  If her name and her cartel couldn't protect her, she was just a woman outnumbered, captured by totally unknown enemies.  </p><p>The trooper led them down a black-floored corridor to a large holding cell.  A low bench wrapped around two of the four walls - wide enough to sit on but not to lie down and sleep, and in the far corner, unceremoniously out in the open, an evac tube.</p><p>“You know,” said Poe, resolutely keeping his tone light, “I heard people are paying fifteen hundred credits a month for places like this in Republic City.”  </p><p>“Shut up, scum.”  The trooper snapped before leaving them alone in the cell, the door sliding shut behind him.  </p><p>“I wish you'd take this seriously, Poe,” Zorii said “this is real.  Those guys out there, they mean business.  Did you see those starfighters out there?  There must have been twenty.”</p><p>“Twenty-three - twenty four with the one we saw on Adumar,” said Poe,  “and I know.  I am taking this seriously, but I need them <em> not </em>to take me seriously - get it?  Who’s the last person anyone expects to stage a genius prison break?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“An idiot.  So I'm gonna act like an idiot until I see my chance.”</p><p>Understanding dawned on Zorii’s face, hardening into determination.  “You think we can bust out of here?”</p><p>“We have to,” said Poe, “I don't plan on waiting around to find out what these guys have in store for us.” </p><p>Zorii nodded.  “So what now?”</p><p>“We wait.  Keep our eyes and ears peeled.  The minute we see a crack in their security, we move.”</p><p>Poe settled in on the bench nearest the door, resting his head against the grey durasteel wall.</p><p>“-back to the <em> Finalizer, </em>” one of the troopers outside was saying, “to drop Captain Hux off.”</p><p>“I was thinking it was strange - him out in the field.”  Another vocoded voice replied, this time female.  “Wonder what was so important that they sent him out to Adumar.  Couldn't just be that contract negotiation, could it?”</p><p>“I don't know.  Don't make it my business to know.”</p><p>“You know he's General Hux’s son?”</p><p>“No,” the first trooper replied, “I didn't even know he had a son.”</p><p>Poe strained to see through the narrow slit in the door.  He had seen other holding cells on their way here, but hadn't been able to tell if anyone was inside.  He could just make out the slit in the door opposite.  The cell beyond looked pitch black and completely still.  He noted the locking mechanism - the same as the one on their cell - had a sensor to accept identiprints or - he suspected - code cylinders.  To unlock the door, he'd either have to get a hold of someone's cylinders or their hand, and he much preferred the former to the latter.  The slit in the door was too narrow for food to be passed through, which meant if their captors were planning to feed them someone would have to open the door.  If they overpowered the one bringing them food, they could get a hold of a blaster and the necessary code cylinders to release any other prisoners.  Then he and Zorii would steal a TIE fighter, and he'd send out a distress call on a New Republic signal.  He'd deliver his target and get home safe.  Easy as that.  </p><p>Just as the plan was solidifying in his mind, a figure loomed into view before the slit, growing to obscure the whole view.  Suddenly there was a pounding on the door - not of a fist, but of the butt of a blaster rifle.</p><p>“You two - get back from the door.  I want you both against the back wall or I’ll shoot.”</p><p>Poe cast a glance at Zorii, silently telling her to comply - <em> we don’t know enough yet </em>.  They both fell back, standing against the back wall as the door hissed open to reveal another trooper, blaster trained on them.</p><p>“Captain Hux wants to speak with the one called Jar Jar Binks.”  He said.</p><p><em> Jar Jar Binks? </em>  Zorii mouthed.  </p><p>Poe shrugged and stepped forward, not complaining when the trooper snapped a pair of binders on his wrists.  Perhaps Hux wanted to question them one after the other.  Or maybe he had rubbed the captain the wrong way.  Hux seemed like the kind of man who’d execute a prisoner over a few rude jokes.  He gave Zorii one last nod as he was led from the room.</p><p>“So what’s the deal?”  He asked the trooper, tone measured and light.  If he kept talking, he kept treading water, kept his head from going under the sea of anxiety that was welling up inside him  “Are you guys fans of the Empire?  Stationed so far out you didn’t get the memo?  Or are you just <em> really </em>dedicated historical re-enactors?”  </p><p>“Quiet.”</p><p>“I’m just wondering,” Poe went on, undeterred, “Captain Hux mentioned that you guys are called… what was it?  First Control?”</p><p>“First Order.”</p><p>“Right, right First Order.”</p><p>He counted eight more troopers as they made their way, all armed with brand-new looking blaster rifles - like an old Imperial E-11 but cleaner in its design - like their armor.  So they were producing weapons - top of the line military-grade weapons by the looks of them.  Now <em> that </em> the New Republic would love to hear about.  He spotted a few officers too, with uniforms in grey and black, all sporting the same insignia on their tunics and caps, like a black star bursting.  He caught a glimpse of the cuff of one officer’s sleeve - POWER - it read.  Was Power a rank?  A name?  A goal?  They certainly seemed to have power - altogether too much of it in Poe’s estimation.</p><p>“What’s your name anyway, soldier?”  Poe asked, tone nonchalant as ever.  “It’s hard to tell you guys apart, you know, with the armor.  It’s all kinda matchy-matchy.  Would help to at least get a name from one of you.”</p><p>“Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”  The trooper snapped.</p><p>They had taken a lift up one level from the hangar and the holding cells and the corridor looked less industrial.  They passed a holo displaying what looked like a propaganda image - several troopers in what looked like the wreckage of a house, one helping a frightened pregnant woman to her feet, another holding a child.  A third was shooting a weequay pirate.  The whole thing looked obviously staged - the lighting almost romantic.  The words ORDER! PEACE! PROSPERITY! ran across the top of the image.  ONLY YOU CAN STOP THE SPREAD OF TERROR THROUGH THE GALAXY!  The bottom read.  <em> Creepy </em>.  This whole place was creepy - one degree removed from Imperial, a thousand degrees removed from anything normal.  It even smelled weird.  Too clean.  The smell of industrial-grade disinfectant was starting to give him a headache.  </p><p>The trooper prodded him to stop before a door almost at the end of the corridor and hit a buzzer.  A silver droid answered.</p><p>As the door slid open Poe just caught the sound of a voice - one that even garbled by a holo sent shivers down his spine.  </p><p>“Every one of your models has failed, Captain,” it said, “if you cannot deliver what you promised, I am sure-” the door slid shut again.</p><p>“Captain Hux is on a call,” the droid explained, “please wait out here.”</p><p>“Captain Hux ordered me to bring the prisoner here,” the trooper said, an irritated edge slipping into his voice.</p><p>“Indeed,” said the droid, “and then he had to take a call.  It was quite urgent.”</p><p>“Should I take him back then?”</p><p>“No, no,” the droid said, “Captain Hux assures me that this will be a short call.  Please wait out here, I shall return and fetch you when the captain is ready.”</p><p>The door opened again for the droid, and Poe caught another snippet of the conversation inside.</p><p>Hux was speaking - pleading by the sounds of it.  “-preme Leader, I promise you, it will be done.  I can -” suddenly Hux’s voice cut off into what sounded like a gag - a horrible, whimpering choke before that too was silenced by the door closing.</p><p>“Should someone help him?”  Poe asked, casting a look at the trooper.  “That sounded bad.  Does he eat while he takes calls?  It sounded like he was choking on something.”</p><p>“Mind your own business.”  The trooper snapped.</p><p>Poe fell silent again, straining to hear anything at all from inside the room.  Nothing.  He suspected it was soundproofed.  Still, he listened until the droid returned - the doors hissing open before him, this time betraying nothing but silence from within.</p><p>“Captain Hux will see the prisoner now,” said the droid.</p><p>Poe was led into the office.  It was a small room, barely large enough for a desk and chairs on either side, but it was neat.  Too neat.  The only sign it was being used at all was the open computer at the desk, a neat stack of rolled up grid-lined paper beside it, and captain Hux himself.  The young man was sitting stiff and straight-backed as ever, but his face looked a bit flushed and, Poe noted, a lock of his red hair had fallen out of place beneath his cap, hanging imperfectly onto his forehead.</p><p>“Sit down,” Hux instructed him, gesturing towards a deeply uncomfortable looking metal chair before the desk, “and you two,” this at the droid and the stormtrooper, “out.  I will meet with mister… Binks here alone.”</p><p>“Are you sure that’s safe, Captain Hux?”  The trooper pressed.</p><p>“I can handle myself just fine, trooper.”  Hux said, withdrawing a blaster pistol from his pocket and sitting it in front of him, far enough from Poe to be out of his reach but in view of everyone.  “Now go.”</p><p>The trooper left first, then the silver droid, and then the door slid shut, and they were alone.  Hux studied Poe from under the brim of his cap, his eyes bright and hot and uncanny as green stars.  Still, Poe met his gaze defiantly, hands clenched into fists beneath the cuffs of his binders.  After a moment, the captain’s gaze shifted to the rolled up paper on his desk.</p><p>When he spoke again, his voice was almost soft.  “You know,” he said, “people say paper is useless - that it’s clumsy and outmoded.  I’m inclined to disagree.  Paper is subtle.  It’s secretive.  It’s personal.  Plans on a computer are vulnerable.  They can be sliced and stolen.  Plans on paper - unless they are scanned or copied - belong only to one person.  The one with the paper.  And if one needs to make plans disappear - well, even a deleted file leaves traces in the holonet.  A traitorous ghost of itself.  Paper leaves nothing.  It’s like a body.  Once it is shredded, or better yet burned - there is no reassembling it.  That’s why I’ve always preferred paper, no matter what anyone else says, at least for my most confidential documents.”</p><p>Stars, this guy liked to monologue.  And all while he spoke he traced black-gloved fingers over the pistol on his desk - a threat that didn’t need words or even eye contact to get across.</p><p>“But enough about me, Mister Binks, let’s talk about you.”  The green eyes snapped back to study him.  “I’ve been reading up a bit on you - Jar Jar Binks, the esteemed statesman from Naboo who served in the senate for decades from the Clone Wars well into the Empire.  Why, you must be nearly eighty years old, Mister Binks.  I never would have guessed.”  A dry sarcasm had slipped into Hux’s tone, and his lips had turned up at the corners, into a smug sneer like the one he had worn on Adumar.  The sneer of a predator who already had its prey pinned down.</p><p>“I had some cosmetic surgery.”  Poe shrugged and smiled, not giving an inch to Hux’s power play.</p><p>“I also understand that Jar Jar Binks is a Gungan.”  Hux pressed, annoyance edging in on his smugness.</p><p>“Like I said,” Poe replied, “cosmetic surgery.  They really did a good job didn’t they?”</p><p>Hux’s fingers twitched around the blaster like he really, <em> really </em> wanted to shoot him, but Poe didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching.  The captain’s face hardened further into frustration.</p><p>“Let’s cut to the chase, then shall we?”  He hissed, “I know you aren’t Jar Jar Binks.  And you aren’t a spice runner either.  You’re Poe Dameron.  You’re working undercover for the New Republic - for the Intelligence Bureau or the Navy.  You were spying on that woman who we captured you with.  You were going to turn her in.  A New Republic strike team was spotted searching Adumar in the location where we picked you up.  Unfortunately, you were gone without a trace.  I wonder if they can guess at what happened, or if they simply think you ran off.”</p><p>That shook Poe’s facade just enough for anger to slip out.  “Fine,” he bit out through clenched teeth, “you want to cut the shit?  Let’s cut it.  Your little operation is in direct violation of the New Republic’s demilitarization orders.  Those troopers’ armor, their blasters, your TIE’s - those aren’t recycled antiques, they’re brand new.  You’re building some kind of army but I promise you, it’s no match for what the New Republic will bring down on you once they find out what’s going on here.  Is that what you want?  Because capturing an officer of the New Republic fleet is a great way to draw attention to yourself and get your whole shit blown up.  If I die out here, they’ll come looking for me.  They’re looking for me right now.  How long do you think it’ll be before they catch you?”</p><p>He was half bluffing, but he spoke with enough conviction to convince himself it was all true.  Something flashed behind Hux’s eyes, but it was gone again in an instant.</p><p>“Let me offer you an alternative narrative, Dameron,” Hux said, leaning forward across the desk.  As he moved, the collar of his uniform shifted and Poe caught a glimpse of angry red marks ringing the man’s neck.  “You and your quarry, Zorii Bliss, were captured on Adumar by a private security company contracted by the Adumarian government. A company they were forced to contract, I might add, because of their neglect at the hands of the New Republic.  While in custody, Zorii Bliss found out you were a traitor to her organization.  She was understandably upset and killed you.  The private security company was unable to intervene in time, but killed Zorii Bliss after the fact.  Adumar returns both your corpses to the New Republic with ample evidence to support this narrative, and the whole matter is written off as a mission gone tragically wrong.  How does that sound to you?”</p><p>Poe scowled.  The blaster was still out of his reach, but he could headbutt Hux hard enough to throw him back and buy Poe enough time to stand up and reach for the pistol.  He could shoot Hux in his smug face before the man had time to call for help.</p><p>“But here’s the thing, Dameron,” said Hux, “I don’t want to kill you.  I’ll do it if I must, but I’d much rather make a deal.”</p><p>“What deal?”  Poe snarled.</p><p>“I want you to get me out of here.  Away from the First Order.”</p><p>Poe could only gawp at him, like the idiot he had pretended to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos on the last chapter!  This week was nuts for me, but in the future I hope to update regularly every other week!<br/>Accompanying illustration on my tumblr here! https://queenphasma.tumblr.com/post/638630744357568512/chapter-2-of-our-stars-aligned-is-up-on-ao3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>— Armitage —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Poe Dameron.  “Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?”  Armitage repeated, flabbergasted at the man’s reply.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had done his research on the young republic officer and everything he found pointed to the man having a hero complex the size of an O star.  As if volunteering for a covert ops mission at sixteen wasn’t proof enough, there was his substantial arrest record - always the result of him staying behind while his spice runner friends ran - staying to save some civilian or stop an impending catastrophe.  He always escaped with minimal casualties - almost certainly with the secret help of the New Republic - and returned to his mission.  He must have cost the New Republic a fortune in time and money, the way only a hero could. And yet...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘no’?”  He demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dameron scoffed.  “Come on, this is obviously a setup.  What - you want to entrap me into committing some kind of crime so you can justify having me shot?  Want to use footage of me killing your guys as some kind of propaganda for your fucked up little Imperial reenactment?  No thanks, pal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t a trap, Dameron,” Armitage insisted, “I want - I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to get out of here.  I need you to help me do it.”  He had counted on Poe Dameron being a lot of things, but a cynic wasn’t one of them.   “Besides, if I wanted to kill you, you would be dead by now.  I hardly need to set you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man sat back, his cuffed hands resting on his knees.  “So why do you want to escape so badly, huh?  You seemed pretty into this First Order thing back on Adumar when you were going off on your little monologue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” Armitage faltered, unsure of how much he dared say.  He had no intention of selling secrets to get out.  He didn’t want to betray the First Order, only to get out of it, and if he told Poe Dameron everything, or even came close, if he let slip the vaguest mention of Project Starkiller, the man might drag him back to some New Republic Intelligence base and force it all out of him under torture.  He couldn’t risk it.  This all seemed so much easier when the idea came to him this morning, when he thought he was just picking up some easily manipulated Spice Runners.  “I hardly think you’re in a position to ask me anything, Dameron,” he said haughtily.  “Help me - get us both out of here - or don’t get out at all.  You’ll never see your precious New Republic again.  You’ll spend the rest of your days working yourself to death in a mine, if you’re lucky enough to live long enough to see the outside of this ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man inclined his head.  “Fair enough.  You want out, I want out, what’s the plan here?  We going now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” said Armitage.  “I thought you were a covert operative, that's hardly very covert!  We need a head start.  We’ll go during the sleep cycle.  Not tonight, but tomorrow.  I need time to pack and to… get things in order.  I’ll stun your guard.  You'll take his armor and we’ll walk straight to the hangar and take a shuttle out of here.  By the time my men realize something is amiss, we’ll have a sizable head start.  Then, of course, we'll part ways on separate ships, get away clean and never speak of this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” said Dameron, his eyes widening, almost impressed.  “You've really thought this through, huh?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only you knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thought Armitage, if only Poe Dameron could imagine how long he had agonized over this, how many plans he'd come up with only to scrap, either because they couldn't possibly work, or because he was afraid of what would happen if they did, how many sleepless hours he had spent, staring at the ceiling of his quarters, the dark pressing against his eyes, trying to reconcile what he could not bring himself to do with what they said he must.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth be told,” he said, and it was the truth - if only part of it, “this is the closest I've been to the galaxy proper since I was a child.  I don't think I'll be back out here for a long time.  If I don’t go now, I… I don’t know when I'll get another chance.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>If I don’t go now, I’ll lose my nerve</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe nodded.  “Okay.  Okay, fine, but Zorii Bliss comes too.  I still need to deliver her to the New Republic.  That’s what all this is for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zorii Bliss is an added risk I’m not willing to take,” Armitage insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.  He was already putting everything on the line for this - he couldn’t have it all fail because Poe Dameron wanted to turn in some spice runner.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last I checked I’m the one orchestrating the escape,” said Poe, “seems to me I should get to decide who comes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>checked,” Armitage retorted, “I’m the one allowing the escape and I say it's too risky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe looked him over from beneath his long, dark lashes.  Armitage thought he could almost see the other man’s mind working, weighing the pros and cons.  Zorii Bliss was infamous enough to have made it on the Order’s radar.  No doubt she must be among the most wanted people in the galaxy, and Poe was within spitting distance of turning her in.  On the other hand, even without Hux telling him a thing about the First Order, he had certainly seen enough of their strength to warrant a report to New Republic Intelligence.  That might well do more for his career than turning Zorii Bliss over ever could.  Keeping the spice runner around might not be a hill worth dying on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Dameron said at last, “But we leave her a blaster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want her armed?”  Armitage was taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want her to have a shot at escaping so I can have a shot at catching her again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough,” he allowed, “it's a plan then.  Tomorrow night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night,” Poe agreed, leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk. “I think you’ll enjoy the New Republic's galaxy, Captain Hux.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  Well, if that’s all,” Armitage pressed the comm button on his desk, “get this scum out of my sight.  Take him back to his cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right away,” the droid replied from outside, before the door slid open to allow the door-watch droid inside.  Dameron looked back at him one more time as he was dragged off, giving him the briefest of winks before the door slid shut behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage felt blood rising traitorously hot in his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck.  He cursed himself for the way his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the other man.  There was no one in the First Order like Poe Dameron, that was for certain, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted.  That man was a tool - a ladder.  Nothing more.  He had far more pressing things to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in his temporary quarters aboard the cruiser, he got his things in orders.  Armitage had very little to pack.  He had never owned much, and he had even less that he cared enough to take.  He carefully rolled up his Project Starkiller plans - the real ones that he kept only on paper and never passed in their entirety to Supreme Leader Snoke - and stowed them in a small black rucksack along with his warmest wool cloak.  He had no civilian clothes - he’d never been a civilian in his life - but he would not go cold into the unknown.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t the first time he had packed.  On many a sleepless night, after meetings with Snoke, after being choked or thrown, or worse - praised for what he was going to do - he had thrown his meager possessions into this very rucksack, his brain buzzing with frantic ideas of escape - freedom - whatever that meant.  He had thought of stealing a shuttle and setting off on his own.  He had never had flight training, but he knew how shuttles were built. That might help.  Might get him out of the hangar.  But then what?  He would be chased - trained TIE pilots sent after him.  He couldn’t maneuver his way out of their fire.  Even if he survived that, there were the challenges of flying in the Unknown Regions - gravity anomalies and uncharted asteroid belts.  That was why he needed a proper pilot.  He had been willing to settle for Poe Dameron, the spice runner, but Poe Dameron, the New Republic soldier with a hero complex, was even better, less likely to kill him or sell him back to the Order.  The moment his troopers had informed him of the spice runners waiting to make some nefarious exchange on Adumar, he had known what he had to do - make some deal and use their pilot as his ticket out.  Poe Dameron was so perfect for his purposes, it almost made him believe in the Force - in predestination and stars aligning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, there was the question of what would happen after he escaped the Unknown Regions.  Obviously he couldn’t stay with Dameron and risk being dragged to the New Republic for questioning.  They’d part ways as soon as possible, and then he’d go off on his own, lie low, wait for the inevitable to happen around him and not to him or because of him.  He knew little of the galaxy beyond the Unknown Regions, but he was adaptable, he was a survivor.  By the time Snoke found someone else to complete Armitage’s work, and the First Order took over, he would be living so far undercover that they’d never even notice him.  He would be safe - his conscience would be -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His comm beeped, startling him to attention, his heart jumping into his throat as he saw who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father!”  He answered at once, the image of Brendol Hux flickering into shape before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re on duty, Captain,” the older man snapped, “and you will address me as such.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies, General Hux,” Armitage bit out, “how can I be of service?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear the most recent tests of your models have been complete failures.  The Supreme Leader is most displeased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” said the younger Hux, fingers flitting to his still aching throat, “I’ll take full stock of the errors and correct them as soon as I return.  We’re on course to rendezvous with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finalizer</span>
  </em>
  <span> in three days' time, with only a brief delay to drop the prisoners off at the mines on Thrago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” said Brendol, the hatred in his eyes visible even through the flickering blue of the holo, “your failures do not just reflect poorly on you.  I advised Command that you were not ready for such responsibility - that whatever knowledge your research might suggest, you do not have the makings of a leader.  You lack the character, the strength of will.  Still, I prayed that they were right in trusting you, and I was wrong - that the Supreme Leader saw something in you that I could not.  Unfortunately, you seem intent on proving me right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage’s face burned with shame, and for all his resolve and his plans to escape, there was a part of him that wanted to come back and build his Starkiller weapon just to prove the old man wrong - just to see his face when it fired, when his son delivered the galaxy to Supreme Leader Snoke on a chromium platter.  That was what always pulled him back.  The shame, the pride, the hatred of that man - he hated what his father - what all of them thought he was more than what he would be if he really did it - if he built the Starkiller.  But not this time.  He bowed his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, father.  I’ll do better.  Our negotiations on Adumar were a resounding success. They were more than happy to accept our offer of security in exchange for free passage through their airspace and - crucially, a brain trust.  As you know, Adumar has produced some of the best engineers outside of the jurisdiction of the New Republic, and they’re sending a delegation to join my weapons development team.  They’ll be arriving in a week or so.”  Of course, even the brightest engineers on Adumar would struggle to make sense of what Armitage was leaving them - to separate what would work from the intentional mistakes he had woven in to obfuscate it.  It would set the timeline back years.  “I will present a full report of the negotiations and our contract upon my return to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finalizer</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>General Hux shook his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer beneath his greying beard, “No,” he said, “you will present your report to me tomorrow.  I am bringing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Absolution </span>
  </em>
  <span>to rendezvous with your shuttle.  We will take the prisoners off your hands.  The FOSB has questions for the Spice Runner.  You’ve mucked about out here long enough.  It’s time for you to return. No more delays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Armitage’s mouth was bone dry.  He barely recognized his own voice croaking from his lips.  “Tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First thing in the morning,” the old man confirmed, “we're five hours out from your location.  We’ll take the prisoners off your hands and have a short debrief and then you'll be on your way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage tried to swallow, only to choke on the dryness in his throat.  “I see,” he managed, “that's wonderful news.  Wonderful.  I will have my men prepare to dock with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Absolution</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” his father said.  “And Captain Hux?  No more failures.  Understand?  I do not need to tell you the cost of further disappointing the Supreme Leader.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”  Any guilt he felt over leaving was quashed as he withered beneath his father’s glare.  And then the holo cut out, and Brendol Hux was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage turned to his viewport, staring at his reflection in the transparisteel.  He looked pale and drawn - more than usual.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Admiral Books had said once, holding Armitage’s face by the chin between his finger and thumb, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your father was right.  Thin as a slip of paper - white as one too - and what was it he said?  Just as useless.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t time to think about that now.  He wondered if his father could see the traitorous intent behind his eyes.  The elder Hux had certainly always seemed to see the worst in him.  He tried to steel himself - to bury any visible signs of doubt or fear in his face - setting his jaw and sealing his lips in a tight line.  He looked himself, and that might not be enough for Brendol Hux, but it would be enough to get past the guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He patted his sidearm and slung the rucksack over his shoulder.  It was time to go.  It was time to leave everything he’d ever known behind.  It struck him then, that in every fantasy and half-baked plan of escaping, he had always imagined the flight, the potential chase, the great unknown that followed, but he had never stopped to imagine the </span>
  <em>
    <span>going</span>
  </em>
  <span> - the first step of the journey.  He paused for a moment in the doorway to his quarters.  Armitage Hux had been all number of things during his time in the Order - Brendol Hux’s bastard, a kitchen woman’s son, a weak cadet, a promising engineering student, a captain, an object to be thrown and choked and slapped around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t any of that anymore.  Once he left here, he would be no one - nothing at all.  No reputation and no baggage.  It would be a clean slate.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is the end of everything, and the beginning of everything else</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took his first step out the door and down the hall.  No troopers questioned his progress towards the detention cell where Poe Dameron and Zorii Bliss were being held.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain Hux,” the trooper guarding the door started and saluted stiffly, “this is unexpected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't know the half of it, I’m afraid,” said Armitage, blasting the trooper with a stun bolt just as the door to the cell slid open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe Dameron was asleep when he entered, starting awake with a grunt.  Zorii Bliss, on the other hand, was wide awake and staring at him.  Both prisoners had been freed from their binders for the night, and the woman stretched her arms as he came in, rolling her shoulders before finally lacing her fingers on her lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if it isn’t Captain Compensating-for-something,” she said with a sneer, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hux!”  Dameron rubbed his eyes as he sat up, “I thought you said tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The plan has changed,” said Armitage as he dragged the trooper into the cell, the door hissing closed behind him, “we have to go tonight - now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, where are we going and why did nobody tell me?”  Bliss asked, rising from her seat on the bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care where you go,” said Armitage, “but Dameron and I have a prior arrangement.  He’s leaving with me.  Just the two of us.  You can go wherever you like.  The hangar bay is down the hall to your right.  You’re a capable woman, I’m sure you’ll find your way out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bliss looked between the two men.  “What the fuck is going on here, Dameron?”  She demanded, rising to her feet to stand over the still-seated pilot.  “Did you go behind my back?  Make some kind of deal with this snide bastard?  What did he promise you, huh?  What did he say?  That if you turn me over you’ll get a clean slate?  I took you for a lot of things, Poe, but not a traitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that,” Dameron said, slipping seamlessly into untruth like only a practiced liar could, “Zorii I made a deal that gets us both out.  Captain Hux here wants out of the First Order.  He's willing to pay a lot, and I'm willing to split it with you.  I’m gonna give him a ride, then I’ll meet you back on Kijimi and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could finish - before Armitage could act - Zorii leapt forward, shoving the lanky Captain aside and snatching the stunned stormtrooper’s blaster off the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I hear one more bantha-shit word out of either of you, you're both dead, understand?”  She demanded, training the blaster on Armitage.  “Here’s what’s gonna happen.  The captain here is going to generously hand me his blaster.  He’s not gonna reach for it too quickly, and he’s not gonna shoot me with it, because he’s a smart boy, and he knows I’m faster than him, and I’ll turn his pretty face into a smoking laser-hole before he can get a shot off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held out one gloved hand in Armitage’s direction, beckoning impatiently.  The captain swallowed.  He knew full well she was right.  He’d researched her too, and though the Order’s holonet was heavily restricted, he found plenty of evidence of her brutality and efficiency.  Zorii Bliss wasn’t like some Hutt crime lord getting fat in a palace while their minions did their dirty work.  She had no problem getting her hands dirty, indeed she excelled at it.  Under other circumstances, if she did not use her skills to spread chaos, she might be the sort of person Armitage admired.  Right now though, as he grudgingly handed over his sidearm, admiration was the furthest thing from his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a good boy,” she said with a smirk, tucking the weapon into her belt.  “Now, Poe, you’re going to tell me what your angle is.  Answer honestly, and I might settle for taking out your knees.  Lie to me, and I’ll shoot you in the face.  Try to make a break for it, and I’ll shoot you in the face.  Get smart with me, and what’ll I do, Poe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dameron held his hands up placatingly, brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out how to diffuse a bomb.  “You’ll shoot me in the face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zorii shook her head.  “I’ll shoot you in the cock, and once the pain’s really set in, once that’s the only thing your traitor brain can focus on, then I’ll shoot you in the face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a bit over the top, don’t you think, Zorii?”  Poe said through a tight grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blaster hummed as the safety clicked off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait,” Armitage cut in, moving a fraction of an inch closer to Dameron as Zorii turned her furious gaze on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay out of this, asshole!”  The woman snarled, finger a hair’s breadth from the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just… listen, please,” Armitage pleaded.  Poe might be a professional liar, but he had a lifetime’s worth of experience talking himself back from the brink of harm, whether it be Snoke’s force grip about to crush his spine or his father’s fist braced to break his nose again.  Lies, truth, it all flowed the same from his mouth when he was in danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand why you’d want to shoot Dameron.  He’s a scoundrel without honor, he’s betrayed your trust.  You’re certainly within your rights to blast him, but perhaps you could postpone it.  You can’t enjoy life without Poe Dameron if you die here right after.  There’s a ship inbound.  It’s the reason I’m here today and not tomorrow.  That ship is bigger than this one, far bigger.  A Resurgent-Class star destroyer, with hundreds of TIE fighters and thousands of troopers, not to mention more than fifteen-hundred turbolasers and ion canons, do you understand?  When that ship arrives, there will be no escape.  Not for me, not for Dameron, and not for you.  Get out now.  Take the blasters, take that trooper’s armor if you want, no one will question you, not until you’re in the hangar making your escape.  Go back to your cartel.  Live to kill Poe Dameron another day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s frown deepened as she studied Armitage, fingers wavering on the cusp of firing the rifle.  “What’s your angle, Captain?”  She asked, cocking her head, a strand of brown hair falling into her eyes.  “What do you get out of this?  Seems to me you’ve got a good thing going here - a ship, an army, a rank.  Why escape, huh?  Why give it all up and trust your fate to a mid-tier spice runner like Poe Dameron?  I get the sense that you know something I don’t, and I don’t like that sense, captain.  I really don’t.”  She was a full head shorter than Armitage, but her presence loomed far bigger.  She was a cornered animal, ready to rip anything and anyone to shreds to save her own skin.  She had no spice runners to back her up, no money to bribe her way out, and it made her more dangerous than ever.  Armitage suspected it would take more than lies and threats to get out of this.  He might actually have to tell the truth - at least part of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The First Order</span>
  <em>
    <span> is</span>
  </em>
  <span> powerful,” he allowed, “more than you can possibly imagine.   I believe fully in its mission.  It’s all I’ve known - my entire life,” his voice faltered, “but I can’t… I can’t be what the Order needs me to be.  I’ve already failed too many times and if I fail again, they’ll…”  He let his voice trail off for dramatic effect, folded his shoulders in and made himself small.  He wasn’t groveling, that would be out of character and would set Bliss off, but he could pretend as if fear was simply getting the better of him, another half-truth he hoped would save them all.  “This is the closest I’ve ever been to the outside, and if I don’t get out now, I never will.  Now please,” he said, letting urgency solidify his wavering tone, “if you leave now, we can all get out of this alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s lips twisted into a sneer - ominous and inscrutable.  Her eyes never left Armitage’s face as her fingers worked the grip of the blaster rifle in her hands.  This couldn’t be the end.  It couldn’t.  He had only just taken his first steps.  He couldn’t die here with the scent of freedom in the air, so close yet so intangible.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FT-3997 come in,” a voice crackled from behind Zorii, sending her whipping round to stare at the source - the unconscious trooper.  “Come in FT-3997, you’ve missed your hourly report on the prisoners - are you in need of backup?  Respond FT-3997.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blast,” Armitage breathed.  He’d planned to be halfway out of the Unknown Regions by now.  “We don’t have much time.  More guards will be coming soon - they’ll know something is amiss.  If we aren’t gone by the time they arrive, we’re all dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Zorii Bliss looked back at him, he saw that her decision was already made.  “Fine,” she said, backing towards the door, “fine.  Poe Dameron isn’t worth dying over,” she looked at the pilot, “but I am going to kill you Poe.  If you survive this, there’s nowhere in the galaxy you’ll be able to hide from me, understand?  You’re a dead man walking.”  She was already outside the cell, and then she was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage looked over at Poe and found the other man’s expression impossible to read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four years,” the pilot breathed, “I spent four years trying to get her.  I was so close…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, now you’ll live to try again,” said Armitage brusquely, hefting his rucksack and heading for the door.  “Let’s go.  There’s no time to waste on whinging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I put on the armor?”  All trace of frustration had been pushed out by stalwart urgency as Poe gestured at the unconscious trooper, “Do I need a disguise?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Armitage urged, “no, there’s no time.  We’ll just have to make a break for it.  It’s messier than I had hoped but still...”  He hurried out into the hall, Poe on his heels.  “Let’s go.  The hangar isn’t far.  We need a blaster.”  He hoped it wouldn’t come to it, and if it did, he told himself he’d shoot only to stun, but he couldn’t go into the unknown unarmed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe seemed to agree.  “Yeah,” he said, “we’d better stock up.  Is there an armory nearby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage shook his head.  “It’s a level up.  Too far. We’ll never make it there and back before the guards arrive.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He racked his brain for a solution.  He was a man of plans - plans of action, plans on paper, plans for ships and superweapons, planned offensives into the Outer Rim and plans for escape.  There was hardly a thing he did in a day that wasn’t written on his agenda, waiting to be checked off.  He had worked out every detail of his defection the moment he was presented with the opportunity to arrest a couple of spice runners before leaving Adumar.  And now it was all coming apart.  But even as despair threatened to overwhelm and paralyze him, an idea popped bright and hopeful into being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evidence storage!”  He exclaimed, picking up his pace as Poe hastened to keep up.  “It’s just down the hall - everything we took from you on Adumar will be there - catalogued and waiting for inspection and incineration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no guards in the hall as he led his co conspirator along.  His light cruiser was understaffed as it was, and there was only a half-staff on guard duty during the sleep cycle.  He had resented this lack of resources when he had left for this mission to Adumar, but now he thanked his lucky stars for it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that true, what you said to Zorii back there?”  Poe asked, dark eyes bright with interest as he hastened after Armitage.  “About the other ship?  What did you call it, a resurgent-class star destroyer?  That’s not Imperial, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Armitage.  He didn’t want to say too much, didn’t want to sell the Order’s secrets to the New Republic.  He wasn’t a traitor after all, just a coward.  Just a weak-willed thing who couldn’t do what was asked of him.  Still, he suspected dropping crumbs of information would make Dameron more agreeable.  The New Republic operative would certainly do more to protect Armitage if he thought he could get something out of it.  “It’s not Imperial.  It’s a new design.  The First Order’s own.  Harsh conditions do have a way of forcing evolution.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how many of those things do you have,” Poe pushed.  “You mentioned a fleet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be happy to give you all the sordid details,” said Armitage as the door to the evidence room unlocked and slid open in response to his code cylinders, “but why don’t we hold off until we’re in less immediate danger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Poe agreed, “yeah fine.  Where’s my blaster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a moment,” Armitage muttered, rifling through bagged items in a filing cabinet.  It was an inelegant solution to evidence storage, but none of the spice runners’ belongings were of especial use to the First Order, spared incineration only by the slow workings of bureaucracy.  “Ah, this one is yours, isn’t it?”  He held up a stubby little blaster pistol of a make and model he hadn’t seen before.  “I thought it would be bigger.”  A small smirk twitched up the corners of his mouth.  He’d bribed Dameron with information. Now all that remained was to establish some sort of human connection - humor seemed like a language he would understand - something else to keep the man from selling him out the moment the opportunity presented itself.  New Republic soldier with a hero complex or not, Armitage knew better than to trust his life to anyone without incentive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about the size,” Dameron insisted as he snatched the blaster away, “it’s about how you use it.”  But a bit of humor had slipped into his tone too, a little warmth in amongst the anxiety and uncertainty of the situation. “Just you wait and see, Hugs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Hux,” Armitage corrected, but he kept his tone light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got a first name, Hugs?”  Poe checked that the blaster was loaded and slipped it into his jacket pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armitage.  It’s Armitage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armitage?”  Poe repeated back with a grimace, as if the name left a funny taste in his mouth.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with Armitage?”  There wasn’t time for this. It didn’t matter what Poe Dameron felt about his first name, and yet, for some reason, it</span>
  <em>
    <span> did</span>
  </em>
  <span> matter to Armitage.  Inexplicably, he cared what this man thought of him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, it’s just- kriff!”  Dameron cut himself off, eyes growing wide as he stared down the hall.  “Company, incoming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The guards at the hangar bay must have sent an alert about Bliss’s escape,” Armitage hissed, shaking his head, slamming the cabinet drawer shut and hastily rising to his fee.  “We’re on borrowed time now.  How many are there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five troopers - no - six.  And an officer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too many for Dameron to take head on.  They needed a better plan, and necessity was forcing Armitage to become much better at thinking on his feet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he said, “take me hostage.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”  Poe turned to look at him incredulously.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put your gun to my head and use me as a shield as you back in the direction of the hangar until you get through the first set of double doors,” he was speaking even as the ideas were unfolding in his head, unspooling into something like a plan, “I’ll tell you when.  Then you’ll just need to hold them off for a moment - just long enough for me to override the door controls and shut them out.  There will be guards in the hangar, but your friend Zorii Bliss has likely already been that way and taken care of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe nodded.  “Okay, yeah, that’s a good plan.  That could work.  But what’s stopping them from just shooting you too?  I mean, what if they catch on that you’re running away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They won’t shoot me,” Armitage said, not entirely sure who he was more intent on convincing., “They’re my loyal men.  They would never suspect me of such a thing!  And besides, I’m important to the Order.  They won’t risk killing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better be right,” Poe said as Armitage stepped closer, allowing himself to be held close in front of the pilot, the tip of the stubby blaster held against his temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m not, we won’t have much time to be upset about it,” he said as they stepped out into the hall, directly in front of the approaching troopers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leading the guards, his black uniform stark against their white armor, was a familiar fresh-faced young officer.  Petty Officer Mitaka looked terrified and utterly out of his depth as he stared at his captain in the hands of the escaped prisoner.  Armitage sincerely hoped that Poe wouldn’t have to shoot Mitaka.  He was an excellent officer, graduated top of his class at the academy a year after Armitage himself. He had promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain Hux!”  The younger man exclaimed, “are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m unharmed,” said Armitage, making his voice tremble on the edge of fear as if he were trying to keep it together and failing.  It was only half an act.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Poe barked from behind him, seamlessly falling into character.  “Everyone shut up or Hugs here gets it.”  He began backing away toward the hangar.  “You don’t want to do that, do you?  No one wants that, so let’s not make any sudden moves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” said Mitaka, raising his gloved hands, “hold your fire troopers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petty Officer Mitaka, situation report!  What the blazes is going on on that cruiser?”  The voice crackling out of Mitaka’s comm was painfully recognizable.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Very slowly Mitaka reached for the comm at his belt and raised it to face-level, voice faltering as he spoke into it.  “General Hux, sir, the prisoners have indeed escaped.  We’ve got one of them cornered, but sir, he’s- he’s got the captain hostage.  We don’t have a clear shot.  We can’t risk it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?”  Hux whispered just loud enough for Poe to hear him, “I told you.”  They took another step back.  They were close now, perhaps twenty paces.  Fewer if they hurried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?”  His father’s tone was impossible to read over the comm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir,” said Mitaka, “please advise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Advise this,” Dameron snapped, switching off the safety and prodding Armitage’s temple with more force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain Hux is too important to be taken by the criminal scum,” the old man’s voice instructed, “he knows too much.  If you cannot get a clear shot at the captor, shoot to terminate them both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe’s stride hitched as Armitage froze, all plans suddenly forced from his mind, overwhelmed by a great, deafening static - a numbness as empty as space.  It was only the other man’s warm hand on his arm, the cold press of the blaster against the side of his head, that kept him tethered to his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitaka’s face had gone ashen as he looked from his comm to his commanding officer, eyes big as saucers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do it, Mitaka,” Armitage said, “think about this, really think about it.  You know me, Dopheld.  Remember the academy?  And you need me - the Order needs me.  Don’t do anything stupid.  As your Captain I order you to stand down.”  Another step back - Poe pulling his unresponsive legs along as he rambled.  It wasn’t enough.  They weren’t close enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, captain,” the petty officer said, voice wavering as he squared his shoulders and set his small mouth in a frown.  “General Hux - he outranks us both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitaka raised his hand and glanced at the troopers behind him.  “Shoot to kill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe Dameron broke into a run a moment before the shooting started.  The hand which had held Armitage in front of him had somehow found his hand and grabbed hold of it, pulling the captain along as blaster bolts flashed past them, one striking the ceiling just above their heads, burning the metal black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden light and sound and motion jolted Armitage from his paralyzing numbness, and he quickly extricated his hand from the other man’s, dashing straight for the controls for the double doors ahead.  He practically threw himself into the wall when he reached it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry,” he barked at Poe, heart pounding in his throat, “hold them off.  I just need, I need a moment to slice this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was having trouble drawing breath, oxygen deprivation making his vision swim as he fumbled with the door’s control panel.  He wasn’t winded from the sprint - he’d never been especially athletic, but he wasn’t as weak as that - it was the panic - the black hole in his stomach - its gravity pulling the breath straight from his aching lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red bolts of energy were flying in every direction as he worked, leaving bright ghosts of afterimages streaking across his vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he could hear was his heartbeat, his wheezing, choking breaths, and finally the hiss of the door sliding shut and locking.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage stumbled back from the panel, eyes wide and mouth gaping dumbly, and surely would have fallen flat on the durasteel floor if Poe hadn’t caught him, firm hands gripping the sides of his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” the man said, his breath hot against Armitage’s ear, “hey, are you okay?  Are you hit?  Armitage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, at last finding his words and managing “no.  No.  I’m alright.  You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fit as a fyrnock.”  Dameron smiled breathlessly as he turned Armitage to face him, still half supporting his weight.  “What the hells do you know that the First Order is so upset about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never mind that,” said Armitage, pulling himself upright by his own power.  “It won’t be long before they force the door.  We need to get to the hangar bay, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought as they set back off, numbness still buzzing around the recesses of his mind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there’s really no going back now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  And it was strange, as much as it had gutted him to be fired upon by his own men - at his father’s orders no less - there was something freeing in that - another kind of emptiness - one which sang and called out instead of buzzing and crushing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidence of Zorii Bliss’s successful escape was everywhere as they made for the hangar.  Troopers lay dead, armor charred with blaster fire, the officers in the control room were slumped over their controls.  Bliss had spared no one.  There were more dead troopers in the hangar itself, but only one TIE was missing from the docks, it’s broken tether trailing across the floor.  She had escaped without being followed.  He and Poe would not be so lucky.  As Poe hoisted himself into the nearest star fighter, the doors at the end of the hall hissed open and troopers began to spill through, urged on by petty officer Mitaka.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go, go now!”  Armitage urged, throwing himself into the gunner’s seat.  “Disengage the tether first, it’s the switch above the hyperdrive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This thing has a hyperdrive?”  Poe demanded, settling into the seat and freeing them from the tether.  “What kind of TIE fighter is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A TIE/sf Space Superiority Fighter.  New model.  It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?  I studied the work of the man who designed it.  A genius.”  He was rambling again, his own voice, speaking of things he understood well, was a tether that kept him from losing his mind completely to fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, so you know how these things work?”  The pilot asked brusquely as he shot out of the hangar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, you’re gunner.  Don’t fuck up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage stared out the viewport as the light cruiser grew farther and farther away.  He almost let himself breathe easy, but before he could begin to calm his racing mind, the screen before him lit up with lights indicating incoming star fighters.  Sure enough, more TIE’s were emerging from the cruiser in hot pursuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you waiting for?”  Poe demanded, sending the stars spinning as he took evasive action, “shoot them!  I need to focus on finding a safe point to jump to hyperspace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-” Armitage’s fingers were numb and sweaty inside his gloves, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of the controls in front of him.  He’d seen diagrams of these ships dozens of times, but for the life of him he couldn’t translate the theoretical into the real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t what?”  Poe demanded, “don’t want to fire on your own guys?  Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to make a break for it.  It’s a little late for second thoughts, Hugs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how!”  Armitage exclaimed, blood rising hot in his cheeks.  “I don’t know how the guns work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said you studied these things!”  Poe’s voice had surpassed surprise, surpassed anger, it was pure, white hot terror.  “How can you not know how they work?  How are you so kriffing useless?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m an engineer, not a mechanic, you imbecile.”  Shame was hardening into anger in Armitage’s chest.  A green laser shot dangerously close to their ship and Poe veered again, and Armitage was sure that had his stomach not been empty he would have been sick.  “I can tell you </span>
  <em>
    <span>how </span>
  </em>
  <span>this thing works, but that doesn’t mean I know how to use it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, great,” Dameron punched a button like he wished it was Armitage’s face.  “Just my luck I’d be stuck with some washed up Imp who doesn’t even know how to use his own ships!  What the hell do you know that they're so afraid of getting out, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of your business!”  Armitage shouted, finally getting off a shot at their pursuers and missing spectacularly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s about to get me killed, I’d say it is my business!”  The other man insisted.  “Okay, fuck.  Making the jump to hyperspace in five, four-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little ship jolted hard, throwing Armitage as far forward as his seatbelt would allow as his controls began to spark and smoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re hit!”  He exclaimed, choking on the acrid fumes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit we’re hit!”  Dameron panted.  “We won’t survive another one.  Looks like the hyperdrive’s okay - more or less.  We gotta jump now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>More or less</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Armitage demanded as the cockpit was suddenly filled with a whirring of the hyperdrive preparing to engage.  “What does that mean?  Hyperdrives don’t ‘more or less’ work!  They either work or they kill you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about this,” said the other man as the stars began to stretch around them, “you leave the flying to the pilot, and if I need a useless theoretical engineering lecture, I’ll ask you?  Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Armitage could retort, they were hurtling through the kaleidoscope of hyperspace, light and color flashing past the viewports.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha!”  Poe crowed from the pilot’s seat, “we made it!  We fucking made it!  It was close there for a second, but we really did it!  Welcome to the free galaxy, Hugs, I think you'll like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage had spent a large part of his life in hyperspace.  These colors were nothing new to him and yet they seemed subtly, profoundly, indescribably different now that he was looking at them with free eyes.  Well, perhaps not free.  He knew better than to think the First Order would let him get away clean.  He'd spend his life running, hiding, waiting for their inevitable victory and praying he would be far away when it happened.  And where would he go?  The Outer Rim was the easiest place to disappear, he supposed, and he could make a life for himself - find work, find shelter, maybe even find some peace.  But there were hundreds of habitable planets in the outer rim.  For the first time in his life, Armitage was spoiled for choice, and the feeling was utterly overwhelming.  Still, he had all the time in the universe to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was moving in slow motion.  The black of realspace swallowed all the brilliant colors outside, the emptiness spinning as the ship tumbled through nothing - meeting no resistance in the vacuum.  Armitage was thrown forward and back with a force he couldn’t begin to comprehend, even when he heard a sickening crunch from somewhere in his chest on the recoil.  More smoke was pouring from the controls and Armitage could no longer tell what was haze and what was his vision failing him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From somewhere far away, he heard Poe shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-dead in the vacuum!  Shit!  Kriffing hyperdrive - Fuck!  I gotta - we can’t waste oxygen.  Hugs - Armitage - how long is the auxiliary life support gonna hold out on this thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Half an-” he choked on the effort of speaking, the shooting pain in his chest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Armitage!”  Poe exclaimed, seeming to just realize that something was wrong.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers gripped a shoulder that might have been his.  Someone was clambering over from the pilot’s seat - a face was swimming in front of his eyes.  It was a pleasant face, Armitage thought.  Such beautiful, dark eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-at me.  Look at me!  Stay with me, Armitage!  We’re gonna get out of this.  We’re almost home free.  Don’t you wanna see the galaxy?  We’ve come this far, just hand on a little longer, buddy!  What did you say we have?  Half an hour?  We can figure something out in half an hour.  You’re an engineer, right?  You know how these things are built.  Come on, pal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was fading into a vaguely annoying hum.  Armitage looked past the lovely dark eyes to the deeper darkness of space - to the distant smattering of stars.  At least he was dying a free man.  At least could die with a relatively clear conscience.  At least the view was nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure if it was his eyesight finally giving up, but it seemed as if one of those stars was growing brighter… was coming closer… </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back!  Apologies for the long hiatus! I've been going through a lot of life changes lately (new job, new apartment, new city, all very exciting but time-consuming stuff) but going forward I should be back to updating every other week. I've missed this story, and I hope you're all as excited as I am to keep going with it! &lt;3</p><p>See the accompanying illustration here! https://queenphasma.tumblr.com/post/646219961478578176/our-stars-aligned-chapter-3-after-a-very-long</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>- Poe - </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing Poe remembered was holding onto Armitage Hux as dizziness and darkness overwhelmed him. He had tried shaking the other man, tried cajoling and pleading with him to stay awake, to stay alive, to hold on just a little bit longer, but it was useless. Armitage’s eyes had fallen closed - lashes a gold fringe on his ashen cheeks. Only the faint, ragged sounds of his breath told Poe he wasn’t dead. Of course they were both dead anyway if help didn’t arrive and fast. Armitage had said the TIE had half an hour of life support - perhaps a little longer if the captain died and stopped using the air supply - but Poe banished the thought. It didn’t matter if it was half an hour or half a day, there was no way Poe could fix this thing from the inside without an astromech or even a manual to help him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even that horrible realisation felt distant as his vision began to darken and fray at the edges, his head growing heavier and heavier until he could hardly keep it up. He rested his face against Armitage’s chest, the faint beating of his heart a chrono’s tick counting down until the end. Poe supposed he’d always known he would die in the black. Still, he thought he’d have more time. He thought he’d do more - see more than this. He thought he’d serve his republic for longer - be a real hero. He’d thought he’d get to see his dad again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kes Dameron had already lost enough. This would break him, and Poe knew, just knew he would blame himself - think it was his fault for letting his son go on such a dangerous mission so young. He wondered if his father would even know what happened to him. No one would find him out here - no one would be able to tell Kes how his son had died. His body would drift out here forever, intertwined with some man he didn’t even know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a final, bitter thought, he cursed Armitage Hux for doing this to him - for arresting him on Adumar, for losing him Zorii Bliss, for getting him mixed up in all this First Order bantha shit. Up until a day ago things had felt so sure - for all the danger and the drama of his life, at least he had known what he was doing. Then stupid Captain Hux had showed up and blown all his best laid plans to smithereens. He wished he'd never laid eyes on that smug face. If they survived this, which was looking more and more improbable by the nanosecond, he would save Hux, just like he promised he would, just to prove that he could. Then he would make the other man tell him everything he knew about this First Order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness had consumed more of his vision, eating all the stars except for one which grew brighter and larger the longer he looked at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then that too was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A moment later, or a year, or an eon, the light - the star - whatever it was - winked back on - just a pinprick of light in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-believe our patient is waking up.” A voice was saying somewhere far above him. Somewhere in the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor dear. He’ll require the very best of care - good thing he’s in the very best of hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, doctor. The very best of hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one bright star had grown until it resolved itself into a harsh overhead light. So he wasn't dead. Not yet, at least. Cautiously, so as not to startle the speakers, Poe took stock of himself. His entire body ached, but nothing hurt sharply - nothing felt broken. All his fingers and toes appeared to be in their rightful places. Still, something intangible, something deep in his gut felt wrong, and so it was with caution that he opened his eyes fully and took in the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two figures took shape - resolving themselves into an older woman dressed in pale green scrubs and droid - a med-droid, he thought, though it appeared to have been modified extensively and subtly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dear,” the woman said, “why, you must be the luckiest being in the galaxy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Poe started, only to cut himself off with a grunt, finding his chest tight and painful. He felt the cool stickiness of a bacta patch below his ribs on his right side. When had he hurt himself there? It was all a blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now dear, don't strain yourself,” the woman soothed. “You and your friend went through quite the ordeal. Rest up. You'll be alright. You’re in the hands of the best doctor in the Unknown Regions. My name is doctor Wredcris, and this El-Ee, my nurse and most trusted companion,” she gestured at the med droid, “We’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe would have quipped that being the best doctor in the Unknown Regions was about as impressive as being the cleanest wamp rat in the swamp, but he didn't think he had the energy to get it out, nor was it the smart thing to do. Besides, there were more pressing things he had to use his limited energy to say. She had mentioned his friend. That could only be Armitage. So Armitage was alive. He was astounded by how relieved that realization made him feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where- where is he?” Poe managed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friend?” Doctor Wredcris clarified. “He's alright. Or he will be. I'm afraid he took a bit more damage than you did, but it's nothing I can't fix. He’ll be back to his old self before you know it. You both will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grunt, Poe hauled his aching body into a seated position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful! You aren't ready to sit!” Wredcris barked, eyes flashing with a sudden rage that made Poe stop still and gawp at her. “Sorry,” she said, flipping back instantly to a nurturing calm, now made uncanny by the contrast. “I'm sorry, only I worry for your safety. You're still suffering the effects of G-Sickness. Not as much as your friend there, but still. Sudden movements could make you very ill indeed. Could even make you black out again, and we don’t want that. Every loss of consciousness hurts precious brain cells.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was true that sitting up made his stomach do Tallon rolls in his gut and the ringing in his ears made it hard to hear the doctor's voice, but Poe refused to give in to the discomfort. He pushed through, and carried on, surveying the room through swimming vision. He was in a small, brightly lit room, its walls lined with instruments that caught the harsh overhead lighting and threw it back, scalpel-sharp, into his eyes. Poe thought he recognized some of the instruments - he was no stranger to medbays - but others looked more like tools he would have expected to see in Babu Frik’s workshop, more suited for cutting metal than flesh, and other items he didn't recognize at all. His cot too was something half-hospital bed and half-droid repair aperture - with metal cuffs at the sides that looked far too harsh for skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the opportunity to inspect himself more closely. His clothes were gone (all but his boxers) but his mother's ring still hung round his neck. If these were robbers, they surely would have stripped him of valuables, but here it was. That, at least, was a good sign. There were a few bruises across his torso and legs, one especially nasty one at his sternum where he had been thrown into the TIE fighter’s control panel, but none of them looked drastic. He’d come home from nights out at the club with worse injuries than this. So why did his brain feel like it had been put through a blender? Why did his insides ache like a gravity well had opened up in his stomach? It had to be the G-Sickness. He should probably count himself lucky this was all that was wrong with him. He had certainly gotten off easier than...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last his eyes fell on the only other cot in the cramped pseudo-hospital room and it's still unconscious occupant. Armitage was stripped down to a pair of grey briefs that looked regulation. The only other coverings on him were the gauze bandages wrapped tight around his ribs. He was laid bare, at once intriguing -despite Poe’s protests against himself- and unsettlingly vulnerable and pale. The planes of his body, the concave curve of his stomach, the jutting ribs and the gentle angle of his jaw, his gaunt cheeks, might as well have been unsullied snowdrifts on some ice planet. Only his red hair, now a tousled mess, leant him any color. That and the bruises. Stars, there were a lot of bruises. His chest was a mottled mess of blues and purples and sickly yellow greens. Must be the result of the hyperdrive malfunction. But there were other bruises too - ringing his neck like a macabre choker. Those weren't from the accident. He remembered seeing them before, peeking above the Captain’s uniform collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor bastard.” Poe breathed. But at least he was alive, and now Poe was going to make good on the promise he'd made himself in the TIE fighter. He was going to save Armitage, and he was going to get the truth out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon me,” said doctor Wredcris, “but I never did get your name, or his.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if this wasn't the strangest doctor's office he'd ever been in, and even if doubt wasn't gnawing at the back of his brain, Poe would be hesitant to give out his name, and even more so to give out Armitage’s. Given how determined the First Order was to keep him from escaping, Poe wouldn't be surprised if they already had a bounty out on the other man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm JarJar Binks,” he said with practiced ease, “and he’s…” under normal circumstances he might have been able to come up with an alias on the spot, but the better part of his brain was still recovering from being thrown out of hyperspace. “Arden,” Poe decided, casting his eyes around the room for inspiration, “Arden…” his eyes found a blaster half concealed in the doctor's coat, then flitted across the room searching and finally landing on a trandoshan anatomy chart stuck to a far wall, “Gunsnake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor's eyebrows darted up but her expression remained neutral. “Gunsnake?” She repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and if you can believe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one lobbying me to change my last name when we get married.” Poe couldn't begin to guess where that lie came from. His father used to say he ran his mouth so much it was like his mouth was running him. Hells if that wasn't true now…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you're engaged?” Wredcris’s expression betrayed genuine surprise at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure are. Wedding’s in a month, if you can believe it. I know I can’t.” Poe forced a chuckle and what he hoped was a wistful smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered learning in an NRI training that the first thing you should do if you're taken prisoner is humanize yourself to your captor. Not that doctor Wredcris was his captor. Not at the moment, anyway. The Unknown Regions were dangerous, lawless territory with no love for the New Republic, and even the seemingly helpful doctor might change her tune if she learned who he really was, who Armitage really was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, isn't that lovely!” Wredcris smiled, reaching up to pat the arm of her droid, “young love is a beautiful thing, isn't it dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” the droid returned. Listening closer, Poe thought he detected a voice mod to the usual male programming, a hint of an accent perhaps, but that drew his attention far less than the way Wredcris was stroking her droid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still remember our wedding day like it was yesterday, but it must have been thirty years ago now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thirty-two years, four months and fourteen days.” Said the droid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Poe gawped between the two of them, finally putting it together - not that putting it together made it make any more sense. “So you two…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Wredcris beamed without a hint of embarrassment or recognition of how bizarre this all was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that's…” Poe tried to think of the right word to put next, but his brain had suddenly lost the ability to formulate complete sentences. “Wow…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe hadn't thought it was legal to marry a droid, then again it wouldn't even be the most illegal thing he'd seen all day. Still...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don't mind my asking,” said Wredcris, a curious edge sharpening her tone, “what were you two doing so far out in the unknown regions? This medbay is open to any who need it, and El-Ee and I are hardly the judgemental sort but I don't mind telling you that most who come through are… a good deal more unsavory than you seem to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe cursed himself for not knowing enough about the Unknown Regions to come up with a convincing story, but that didn't matter. He just had to keep talking, keep treading water until he was sure he was safe or at least until he understood the scope of the danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's true we aren't exactly practiced spacers,” he said, falling back into his easy lying voice, letting his mouth take the wheel from his mind. “We’re just a couple of simple guys from Batuu who wanted to see the stars, I guess. See, Arden’s a mechanic - a damn good one - souped up an old TIE fighter we found in the junk heap - even put a hyperdrive in it. Now, I'm not much of a pilot, but I figured, why not take it for a spin? Turns out it's rough space out there. Gravity anomaly damaged the hyperdrive, and it threw us right back into real-space. We would've been done for if it wasn't for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wredcris was nodding along, her eyes wide and intrigued, totally taken in by Poe’s story. “A hyperdrive on a TIE fighter… now that's a stroke of genius,” she mused. “Mad genius perhaps, but in the right hands… and to think of the lives something like that would have saved for the Empire…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You worked for the Empire?” Poe pushed, distrust jolting him to full alertness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wredcris only chuckled at Poe's sudden suspicion. “My dear boy,” she said, “everyone my age worked for the Empire, whether they liked it or not. If you were a researcher of any kind, the Empire was the only source of funding, publications, jobs. I'm sure it all seems very black and white to you, but it wasn't so clear cut. We were all simply living, and the Empire was there in the background. Still,” she added, sensing that Poe’s skepticism hadn't gone away completely, “if it's any comfort to you, the Empire and I parted ways long ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her wry smile did ease Poe's mind a little. He looked over to the unconscious Armitage and wondered what he'd think of all this - if he too would say he was working for the Empire-or something like it- out of necessity- if he had simply been living and the First Order was in the background, as indisputable a part of life as death or gravity. He might say it, but Poe suspected Armitage was more involved than that. No one made the rank of captain at his age - knew so much his own side would sooner see him dead than captured- without making careful and intentional choices. Behind those delicate, sleep-softened features was a dangerous, calculating cunning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe was started from his thoughts by a sudden noise from the other man. Armitage stirred, face scrunching up in pain and confusion as he rolled onto his side, precariously close to the edge of the bed and then- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a burst of energy that surprised even himself, without regard for Doctor Wredcris’s shouting, without thinking at all, Poe launched himself from his own cot to catch Armitage before he hit the ground, grabbing onto him in an awkward embrace on the floor. Even with his fall broken, Armitage let out a pitiful whimper as his bandaged chest collided with Poe’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey… hey I got you,” Poe reassured him in the voice he usually reserved for children and dying people (to be fair, maybe Armitage was dying- he’d probably die of embarrassment if he could see himself right now), “I got you. You're okay. We got saved. There's a doctor here who's gonna get you patched up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-Dameron?” Armitage mumbled against his neck, the warmth of this breath reminding Poe suddenly and awkwardly how close they were- how much skin was touching skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Dameron,” he mumbled, quieter than before, giving the former captain a light pat on the back. “It's Jar Jar, remember, Jar Jar Binks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no…” Armitage moaned. His voice was slurred. Pain killers, Poe suspected, a lot of them, if Wredcris was a doctor worth her salt. This could make things a lot harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes,” he encouraged, sitting back a little and holding the other man a little distance away. Hux was barely keeping his head up, his usually sharp green eyes dull and unfocused. “It's me, your fiancé, Jar Jar Binks, and you’re Arden Gunsnake, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage grimaced. “Fiancé?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try not to look too disappointed,” said Poe, looking back at doctor Wredcris who seemed to be trying to give the two a little space, busying herself with a datapad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one would believe we’re engaged,” the other man slurred, “you're far too handsome for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That caught Poe so far off guard he nearly lost his grip on Armitage as he tried to stifle the laugh that tumbled, unruly, from his throat. This was definitely going to be difficult, but at least it would be funny. “Aw, come on, don't be so hard on yourself,” he grinned at the other man, “obviously you're rich and I'm marrying you for your money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage thanked him for that by retching up clear, acrid bile down both their fronts and slumping forward back into Poe with a mumbled sentence that might have been “‘nd Gunsnake’s a stupid name…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit,” Poe hissed, not sure what to do with Armitage’s limp, bony form. “Doctor!” He called back to Wredcris, “we’ve got a situation!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear!” The woman exclaimed, hurrying to Armitage’s side and lifting the man back onto the bed with impressive ease. Armitage might be a toothpick of a man, but Wredcris maneuvered his lanky body as if he were a stuffed toy. “It's exactly as I said,” she went on, wiping bile from the prone man's face with a cloth, “moving around in your condition will only make you sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Point taken,” said Poe, getting to his feet with a grunt, “but seeing as it wasn't me who puked, you think I could go to the ‘fresher and get cleaned up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” said the doctor, “dear, why don't you show Mr. Binks to the refresher?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right away, doctor,” returned the med droid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, there was definitely some kind of voice mod on the thing, probably in an attempt to make it sound more human. The end result was more uncanny than anything- like someone speaking through three vocoders at once. Doctor Wredcris was definitely crazy, but at least she seemed like the harmless kind of crazy - helpful even. He'd met far stranger and more dangerous people than some wacky droidfucker. Still, he kept his guard up and his eyes peeled as El-Ee led him out of the medbay and down a narrow corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had to guess, the ship was a mid-size freighter - an older model, if the tech was anything to go by. The narrow hall was made narrower by a mess of old machinery - medical equipment and spare droid parts stacked with a kind of mad order that reminded Poe of a bird's nest. More proof Wredcris was crazy, or at least a disorganized eccentric. Friendly and helpful as she seemed, Poe made up his mind to get himself and Armitage out of here as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’re you two headed, anyway?” Poe asked the droid, “any chance you'll be stopping for fuel soon? Arden and I've got family all over the Unknown Regions. You can drop us anywhere really, someone’ll pick us up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The droid paused a long time, photoreceptors focused on some point in the middle distance down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hear me?” Poe nudged, “I was asking if you could drop us-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Family?” El-Ee said at last, looking at Poe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. All over these parts, like I said,” he snapped. There were few things in the galaxy less comforting than a med droid with a lagging processor. “So what do you think? Can the doctor go ahead and discharge us soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another drawn out pause before the droid gave a stiff nod and said, “yes, I believe she will not keep you here much longer. Now, here is the refresher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A door hissed open, revealing the small room - little more than a vac-tube and a sonic sink practically stacked on top of one another. There was a mirror too, and Poe finally caught a glimpse of himself. Dark circles haunted the spaces beneath his eyes, and stubble shaded his jaw. Once he had been proud of his ability to grow a beard - had been excited for his father to see the man he had grown into. Now though, he thought it just made him look more tired. Tired was all he looked like now - not a spice runner or a republic officer or the young man who had left Yavin 4 four years ago. Just tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>El-Ee made to follow Poe into the cramped room, but the man resolutely blocked the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I'm good on my own in here, pal,” he held his stance until the droid seemed to catch on and stepped back, allowing the door to slide shut between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in at least twenty-four hours, Poe had a moment alone. He braced himself against the edge of the stainless steel sink, unsure if his head was reeling from the lingering effects of G-sickness or simply the velocity at which everything had changed. Meeting Armitage Hux had to be the single most disruptive moment of his life. That pompous slip of a man had blown his cover, ruined his mission, and gotten him shot at and chased and thrown out of hyperspace, but despite how he had felt in the TIE fighter, he was finding it harder and harder to resent him. Maybe it was seeing him stripped down and vulnerable in Wredcris’s medbay - all his entitlement and authority gone with his clothes - or maybe it was simply his potential utility to the New Republic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything Poe had seen about the First Order suggested they were a highly organized, highly armed threat to galactic democracy, had all that was before considering the things he had only heard mentioned - the fleet, the Resurgent Class star destroyers, whatever it was Captain Hux had been working on that made him such a valuable asset to the Order. Armitage was the key. He knew the First Order. He knew their secrets and their power, and he could give the New Republic all the intel they would need to stop the Order before it came to all out war, and Poe would be the one to deliver him. All he had to do was to survive, and make sure Armitage - strange, infuriating, intriguing Armitage survived too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe took his time cleaning himself up at the sink, turning the water up as hot as it could go and splashing the scalding droplets on his face. He wanted a hot shower, wanted a haircut, wanted to sleep without one eye open. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he promised himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>soon. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He also took the opportunity to peel back the corner of the bacta patch on the side of his abdomen. He couldn't for the life of him remember what had happened to him there. Then again, it had all been a blur. Anything could have happened as they tumbled out of hyperspace, and void knew he hadn't bothered taking stock of his injuries when he'd thought he was done for. Nevertheless, as he peered beneath the bandage, he was taken aback to see a neat line of sutures just beneath his ribs. He reasoned that he must have sustained some internal injury that required surgery - it was the only explanation that made sense. Still, it seemed like something the doctor should have told him. He gave the wound a tentative poke and had to bite back a scream as his vision went white with pain. Whatever this was, it was probably better left alone. He'd demand answers from Wredcris, but he wasn't going to go poking around a fresh wound on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last he made final, exhausted eye contact with himself in the mirror and forced a cocky grin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he cajoled himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you've got this! You're Poe Dameron, best pilot in the New Republic navy, you've done a million things tougher and more dangerous than this, and you'll live to do a million more. Get your shit together.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He took a few deep breaths. His shit was as together as it was going to get. And with that, he left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An overpowering smell greeted him - one that set primal alarm bells off in his brain, though he couldn't place it - something at once metallic and organic. That was nothing compared to the alarming sensation that met his bare feet as he stepped over the threshold. The floor was wet- covered in some thick, warm liquid. It was blood - it had to be - but the source- it was dripping from El-Ee’s chest plate. At first he couldn't fathom what he was seeing- his brain lagging like El-Ee’s slow processor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re-” the words faltered on his tongue, “you're bleeding.” It was a medical droid- it wasn't impossible that it stored blood samples in there. Still the sight of it - of a bleeding droid - thick, organic fluid dribbling from mechanical innards - bleeding despite there being no heartbeat to push it out- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The droid’s head turned slowly in his direction. “So I am,” it said, “you had better go and get the good doctor. I suspect I will require repairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-right,” Poe stammered, all the work he'd put into steadying himself rapidly coming undone, “okay I'll do that, I'll go get her. Stay right there!” He had to force his eyes to leave the grisly sight so that his legs would move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled down the cluttered hall back the way he had come, the doors to the medbay hissing open to reveal a very startled doctor Wredcris preparing to hook Armitage up to some kind of IV drip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Binks,” said Wredcris, “y-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's no time,” Poe cut her off, “your droid he’s- I think there's something wrong with him he's - he's bleeding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor's eyes shot wide open, and she rose to her feet, fitting Armitage with the drip and leaving his bedside with astounding speed for someone her age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay here,” she commanded Poe, her voice taking on that same out of character harshness she had shown a flash of before. “Keep an eye on him and don't go anywhere. I'll help El-Ee.” And with that she was gone, all but shoving Poe out of her way as she made for the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bleeding droid?” Armitage’s voice dragged itself drowsily from his lips. “Is that really what you said or have I completely lost my mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This whole karking place is losing its mind,” Poe grumbled, going to sit on the edge of his bed facing the other man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage was lying on his back, prominent ribs expanding and contracting against his bandages with every breath. Some of the rigidity had returned to his limbs which had been absent when he was unconscious - an awkwardness that made his knees stiff and his jaw square, as if even in his pain killer addled state, he was preparing to go on the defensive. From this angle, the bruises on his neck were even more plain. What he saw made Poe’s heart skip a beat. There were no finger marks. It was one unbroken, continuous ring of angry purple bruise. He tried to rationalize that it could be mechanical- from a droid or some kind of torture device. No. There was something horribly, indisputably organic about that bruise, and Poe knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what this was, not from firsthand experience but from whispers and war stories from his parent's time. It was the Force, in its darkest and cruelest form. But how and where had a pompous mid-level officer like Armitage Hux met a Darkside Force user? This man grew stranger and stranger the more Poe thought about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The doctor,” Armitage mused, unaware of or ignoring Poe’s stare, “there’s something… off about her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no kidding,” said Poe. “Pretty sure she’s fucking that droid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got a startled chuckle from Armitage- a shockingly light and genuine sound. “Is that… is that normal in your New Republic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Poe snorted. “I mean, my dad always taught me to live and let live- whatever fuels your engines, you know? But whatever she's got going on with that droid is kriffing weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've never seen the like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage paused a long moment after that statement, his mouth twisting as if on the verge of saying more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's something else,” he said at last. “She… her name… Wredcris, sounds familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like from the First Order?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” the other man shook his head, squinting as if he were trying to see through the fog of the painkillers. “No, not from the Order. Somewhere else I-I can't place it.” He cast a look around the room, searching for clues or searching the recesses of his mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe she was on a wanted list?” Poe offered. “I mean, if you were able to find out about Zorii, your people must at least keep track of bounties and arrests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage hummed. “Maybe. Maybe. The First Order’s records of criminals and miscreants is a light year long, but that was never my department. Not before this last mission… not before you and Bliss...” His voice was slowing again, lids falling to half mast over unfocused green eyes even as he continued to look around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe saw his in and took it. “And what </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>your department?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Armitage murmured, missing or ignoring Poe’s question. “Dameron, look over there, her computer’s still on. Check it... quick, before it times out and requires a password.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man sure knew how to give orders, even drugged half out of his mind. Poe was half inclined to refuse, or at least drag his feet just to keep Hux humble, but unfortunately he was right. Time was of the essence and Poe couldn't risk potentially new and vital information just to prove a point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wredcris had indeed left without shutting down or logging out of her computer. He stared at the screen for a long moment. It was a database, he thought, some kind of medical thing that was way above his pay grade to understand. The initials at the top of it were familiar, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay, this is interesting,” he called back to Armitage, “she was on the IFMD- the Imperial Families Medical Database. I mean, your people probably know all about it. All the Imperial officers and their families are in it. I guess the Empire kept it in case any of their higher ups had a medical emergency. It's all there - blood type, pre-existing conditions, identiprints, genetic profile - the NRI still uses it to find war criminals in hiding. And it looks like she was checking…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice trailed off as he expanded the file. It was a short entry headed by a holo of a small boy with red hair and a sullen frown. He knew who it was even before he read the name beneath the image. HUX, ARMITAGE B., it read, STATUS: [REDACTED]. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe’s stomach sank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't like this,” he said, as much to himself as to Armitage. “She had your file pulled up- probably tested your DNA. Maybe it was just her being careful, but it's not a good sign. Not with the First Order after you.” He allowed himself one last look at the file. Armitage Hux was twenty-two years old. He was born on Arkanis the day the Death Star was destroyed. His father, the one the troopers had referred to as General Hux, had been a commandant the last time this had been updated. Armitage's mother was not listed. Poe was curious why a then five-year-old’s status would be redacted, how and why and to where the Huxs had escaped the fall of the Empire, but more than that he felt guilty. Though he might well have to investigate Armitage later, it felt wrong to do it like this, with him incapacitated and vulnerable in the same room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He closed the file, deciding against reading the other information there, at least for now. Instead, he searched another name. WREDCRIS.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There she was. WREDCRIS, NEQUISTIA. STATUS: DISCHARGED (DISHONORABLE); WANTED. Now, Poe tried to be reasonable. This database hadn't been updated in almost two decades, not since the end of the Empire. And if anything, being wanted by the Empire was a good thing, wasn't it? She could have been a Rebel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dameron,” Armitage's voice was faint and slow, leaving his lips like tar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One second,” said Poe, not ready to look away from the doctor's file. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd been married. The file listed a deceased spouse - Elian Wredcris, also an imperial officer. Elian - Eli - El-Ee… Stars, had she named her droid after her dead husband?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poe, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The use of his first name got his attention. Poe turned away from the computer, and what he saw made his heart stand still. Armitage was lying prone on the bed, skin glistening and clammy under the harsh lighting and somehow even paler than before. He seemed to be struggling to breathe, air fighting its way through his blue-tinged lips in shallow, ragged gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe knew immediately what this was, and the dull, unfocused stare and pinprick pupils in the other man's eyes only confirmed it. In his time with the Kijimi Spice Runners, he had learned it was common practice to cut spice with cheap painkillers. Too often Poe had seen people overdose without even knowing what they had consumed. He couldn't do anything about the cutting - not without blowing his cover - but he could try and help in the moment.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think…” Armitage mumbled, his words slow and slurred, “I think I've been poisoned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Poe, remembering the snide, prissy young officer he’d been arrested by not 24 hours ago. It was hard to believe this was the same man, stripped of his uniform and most of his consciousness. “Yeah, I think Doctor Wredcris might be the scary kind of crazy after all. Pumped you full of enough painkillers to down a Wookie.” He kept his tone soothing as he removed the needle from Hux’s pale arm. “But you're gonna be fine.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe. Hopefully.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Just stay conscious, okay? Can you do that, buddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A weak nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” said Poe, turning to the cabinets on the other side of the room. Wredcris might be trying to kill them, but she was still a doctor. There had to be a detoxification hypo in there somewhere. “So, Arden Gunsnake, you got a real fiancé or something somewhere who's gonna be upset about this little lie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” came Armitage's strained reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” said Poe, “can’t be tied down, you know? What about a girlfriend… boyfriend? What's the dating scene like in the First Order?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He tried to imagine the officers and troopers he'd seen making small talk at a bar and felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite the dire circumstances. Half the things in Wredcris’s medical storage seemed like droid parts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don't,” Armitage slurred, adding, almost defensively, “I’m… too busy for such things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you are.” Poe’s smirk widened. He wasn't exactly shocked that the young former captain was single. He seemed like the kind of guy who’s idea of a fun evening was a late night in the office and a date with a well-organized spreadsheet. “Too busy…” he repeated with a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he pawed through the shelves, he had to steady himself on the counter. In all the excitement, he hadn't paid much mind to the fact he didn't feel so hot himself. His abdomen ached like someone had punched him from the inside, and his head was still spinning with the lingering effects of the G sickness. But he'd be fine. He didn't have time to worry about himself now. Not when Armitage-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slid open, sending Poe reeling dizzyingly to face the intruder. He grabbed hold of the first sharp object that caught his eye- a rusted-looking vibro-bone saw. He probably couldn't do much in his current state, but he wouldn't let Wredcris win without a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn't Wredcris at the door.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight that greeted Poe was so grotesque it nearly pushed his spinning head over the edge into unconsciousness. The bone saw clattered to the ground as he used both hands to brace himself against the counter. His brain lagged, trying to process the nightmare vision before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was El-Ee, or what they had been calling El-Ee. The droid’s- the thing’s faceplate had been cracked open and split to reveal not wires and metal but raw, flayed flesh and tacky, half-dried blood. Impossible as his brain wanted to believe it was- the face staring with bloodshot eyes from beneath the ruined faceplate was undeniably that of a human man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Run,” a voice, pained and raw as the exposed flesh, made unsettling harmony with itself through the half-intact vocoder. “I have subdued the doctor, but she will wake back up shortly. You must go. There is an escape pod on the lower deck. Take it. Go back to your family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” Poe stammered, not quite ready to drop the saw but easing his posture a little, and glancing back towards Armitage who seemed to be slipping rapidly off the edge of consciousness. “Arm-Arden isn't going to make it to the escape pod. Not like this. She tried to give him a fatal dose of painkillers - I took the needle out, but there's already so much in his system. He needs a detox hypo or something I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>El-Ee moved further into the medbay, giving Poe a better view of the state of him. The blood which had been oozing from his chest plate before was flowing freely now. Further damage to the metallic exoskeleton revealed more human parts. This wasn't a droid - had never been a droid. El-Ee was a cyborg - a human man who had seemingly been stripped down to his core components and built back out again with droid parts. He had never seen anything like it - not even in black market cybernetic clinics in the outer rim. There was no denying the medical precision behind the modifications. Wredcris knew her shit, even if she was crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cyborg produced a syringe from one of his chest compartments and began peeling back the bandages from Armitage's torso to get a clear shot at the man's chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa whoa, what are you giving him?” Poe demanded, striding forward as if he could have done a thing to stop El-Ee if he tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adrenaline.” El-Ee answered matter-of-factly, plunging the needle directly into Armitage’s bruised chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reaction was immediate. Armitage's eyes shot wide open and his slow stuttering breaths became desperate hungry gulps of air, quickly expelled again as he saw the cyborg before him and began to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in all the bloody Sith hells are you?” Armitage demanded, throwing himself back to the far edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was blood trickling from one of his nostrils, but he didn't seem to notice. He was wild-eyed and shaking like a leaf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He will require further medical attention,” El-Ee told Poe, disregarding the terrified Armitage, “as will you, but this will be enough for you to make it to the escape pod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As will I,” Poe repeated, looking down at the bacta patch obscuring the sutures on his abdomen, “what did she do to me, El-Ee? What </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind </span>
  </em>
  <span>of medical attention am I gonna need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is somebody going to tell me what's happening?” Armitage demanded, standing now, arms folded across his bare, bruised chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no time to explain,” the cyborg said, making slow progress back toward the door, “I believe Nequistia- Doctor Wredcris- did what she has done out of love for me. She has always acted in the interest of keeping me alive. Whatever the cost,” he nodded at his twisted, corrupted form, “it was one thing when it was criminals and vagrants, but you two are engaged to be married. You have families who will miss you. It is not right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was nearly at the door now, and it hissed open in anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Poe said after him, “you've done the right thing today, Elian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cyborg’s stride hitched in a distinctly organic way at the use of his name- his real, human name. “Go well, Jar Jar Binks, Arden Gunsnake.” The decrepit cyborg gave them a parting nod, and the doors hissed shut behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot believe your stupid lie actually saved our lives,” said Armitage, his voice dry despite his hitching, panting breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t believe a trained covert operative for the New Republic knows how to tell a good lie?” Poe let sarcasm cover for his own shock that this had all somehow worked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man raised his eyebrows as a smirk quirked up the corners of his mouth. He still held his hands defensively over his bare chest, but he looked less desperate and cornered now. Despite everything - despite the chemical cocktail in his veins and the galaxy of bruises across his chest, he had composed himself. Cunning and control had wrestled back everything else. Poe was beginning to understand that despite his mousy features, Armitage Hux was no rodent. He was a tooka cat - he was predator and prey at the same time. Frightened and vulnerable as he sometimes seemed, he was deadly. The most dangerous mistake one could make would be to underestimate him. The second most dangerous would be to back him into a corner and risk losing his trust completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should get going,” said Poe, faltering on the edge of stepping forward before stepping back towards the beds and Armitage, picking up the blanket at the foot of his cot and draping it over the other man's narrow shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither man said a word. No one’s dignity was tarnished, but there was gratitude in the way Armitage pulled the blanket tighter around himself and in the way his lips tightened almost imperceptibly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I guess the doctor isn't a droidfucker after all.” Said Poe as they ventured out down the hall. There was no sign of Wredcris or Eli in either direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Armitage agreed solemnly. “Whatever else she is, she isn't that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’d looked you up,” Poe said, “in the IFMD.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sensed the other man faltering behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Your file was pulled up on her computer. Nothing recent or anything. Thing hasn't been updated in twenty years, but she knows your name- knows you're Imperial. That can’t be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Armitage, “it can't.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said before you thought she was familiar,” Poe tread carefully around the question, not wanting to put the other man on the defensive. “Do you remember where you know her from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long pause, long enough to make Poe worry Armitage was going to refuse to talk- throw up another wall, but at last he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's been a long time- and it was one of those stories one has to assume is embellished half to death but… well from what we've seen here I'm beginning to think it was more truth than not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice picked up speed as he spoke and Poe could practically see the adrenaline coursing through his body, anxious fire in his veins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was in the academy, people used to tell stories about a doctor- one of the most brilliant minds in the Empire when it came to cybernetics- even worked on Vader himself- they said she could do anything- fix anything- droid or organic. There were rumors she was doing… unorthodox experiments… spiriting away prisoners to her lab in the night and… doing things to them. But the Empire was willing to ignore it. After all, what were a few prisoners compared to the strides she was making for science? Then one day- well, she had a husband you see, a high-ranking officer in his own right, and he was stationed on a ship in a contested system. There was an attack. The Rebellion. The ship was recovered, but the losses were extensive and the husband was badly hurt- no one expected him to survive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elian Wredcris…” Poe murmured. Elian Wredcris who had been marked dead in the IFMD, Elian Wredcris who had saved their lives. In the back of his mind Poe wondered if the former imperial officer would have saved them just the same if he had known who Poe really was - a child of the very Rebellion that had gotten him maimed in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said Armitage, “yes I suppose it must have been. Supposedly she... fixed him. Put him back together with droid parts and pieces of other wounded. That was the last straw. It was one thing to do quiet experiments with prisoners, but to steal parts from other wounded officers - to kill imperials. They tried to arrest her, but she escaped along with the monster she had made of her husband, ran off into the Unknown Regions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe was silent as he took in Armitage's story. Embellished or not, there was no denying that there was truth to it, and that truth was still on this ship with them and wouldn't stay incapacitated for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They still teach her work in the academy,” Armitage went on, “it isn't my area of expertise but the notes she left behind are-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stopped in his tracks, stiff as if he had just been frozen in carbonite, one hand clutching the blanket tight about his shoulders, the other half-raised to his open mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hugs?” Poe prodded him. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Notes,” Armitage breathed, staring wild-eyed into space. “The notes. My bag- Dameron I need- I have to go back for it. If she took our clothes, she must have taken the bag too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe shook his head, dumbfounded. “Are you crazy? Are you still high on painkillers? We’re not going back for your stupid backpack! You heard Elian. She won't stay out of commission for long. We have no weapons and neither of us is in a state to fight. All we can do is get out while we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> don't have to go back,” Armitage insisted with fire in his eyes, and no room for rebuttal in his tone, “I’ll go back and look for it. You get the escape pod ready. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, leave without me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re insane,” Poe could do nothing but shake his head. “You're actually insane, you're not going back there alone for a kriffing backpack!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The contents of that bag are more important than my life or yours,” insisted the other man, “it would be disastrous if I lost it, but the idea of it in her hands… it could be catastrophic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was beginning to sink in that if Hux wasn't insane, then he knew something Poe didn't. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he said, “fine then. But I'm coming with you and you're telling me what's in the bag that's worth putting my ass on the line for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not coming with me, you’re waiting in the ship, and if you don't leave without me and I live long enough, then I'll tell you everything when I get back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage's full lips were set in a hard, firm line. This was not a request or even a retort. It was an order, and loathe as Poe was to take orders from Hux, he recognized it wasn't an argument worth having.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll wait with the escape pod,” he grudgingly agreed, “but if you aren't back in fifteen minutes, I'm coming back in after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armitage gave in with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “It's your life, Dameron, risk it however you see fit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that they parted ways, Poe towards the lift to the lower level and Armitage back the way they had come. As he strode away, Poe couldn't help but marvel at the way he managed to wear a blanket draped over his shoulders as if it were a uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lower deck of the ship was no less cluttered than the rest. He found the escape pod docked off a cargo bay filled to the ceiling with the skeletons of other small ships. The air was stale and heavy with rust and dust, and the whole place had an energy somewhere between a scrapyard, a graveyard, and a jungle. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stars,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Poe thought as he picked a path through the maze of metal and wire, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how many other people has she done this to? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was the TIE fighter, already in the process of being gutted by an old astromech that looked half stripped itself. Poe felt a twinge of frustration at the sight. He had hoped to deliver the starfighter to the NRI. After all, it was new First Order technology, proof that the Imperial Remnant was illegally militarizing. Armitage would have to be proof enough- assuming he didn't die here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That grim thought was banished from Poe's mind as his eyes landed on something just past the TIE - one of a very few pieces of working tech in the hold - a comm booth. He all but sprinted towards the familiar console, fighting back fatigue and pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew the New Republic military’s emergency frequencies better than he knew the controls of an X-Wing, and he easily set about sending out a distress call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Poe Dameron,” he hissed, “I've been kidnapped. I have high-level intelligence and I need an extraction ASAP. I'm being held by-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain shot from the small of his back and through his body with the speed and force of a lightning bolt. In an instant he had lost all control of his body, voice dissolving into a scream, limbs spasming as they betrayed him and sent him crumpling to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally caught sight of his assailant when he rolled onto his back, still immobilized by pain and the twitching of his limbs. It was the half-stripped astromech, extendable taser arm still outstretched, and behind it, a pair of scrub-clad legs were drawing closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“High level intelligence, eh?” Doctor Wredcris’s voice had shed all its bedside manner. It was cold and flat and cutting as a scalpel. “I don't suppose I might flatter myself in assuming that's referring to me? Or is it about Armitage Hux? I'm sorry… Arden Gunsnake.” A pause, as if she were waiting for him to react in surprise that she had discovered his lie. “I can only assume you've seen those notes of his. That must be why you have him with you. I can't blame the New Republic for wanting to get their hands on him, even if it's just to make sure he dies and his ideas die with him. For my purposes, though, he's utterly useless. Not a match for Eli, so not even a useful organ donor. I was going to put him down humanely, but since you’ve gone and ruined everything, I’ll have to reconsider. And you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was standing directly over him now, blaster in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I was going to take you apart gently. I was going to make sure you hardly felt a thing, just like I did with your kidney.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… the fuck…” Poe managed, “my… my kidney?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re too young to know love. Genuine love. The sacrifices it demands. The things I’ve done… all to keep Eli alive… everything we’ve lost! But it’s all worth it. That is love, Poe Dameron of the New Republic. You can think on that while I vivisect you to put him back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not love.” Poe bit out, fatigue threatening to swallow his consciousness whole. “It’s sick. You’re sick. And Eli knows it too. That’s why he tried to help us. He’s suffering. He doesn’t want your help. You’re torturing him all because you can’t let go, you fucking insane-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Wredcris’s shoe collided with his jaw, so hard he was sure he felt the bones shift positions, sending sparks flying across his field of vision. “Shut your mouth, scum!” She snarled, saliva flying from her mouth and hitting Poe’s cheek. “Don’t you dare presume to tell me about my love for my husband!” A pause, more ominous than her shouting followed, and Poe watched her take a step back, watched her hands go to her hips. “I know you New Republic types. Like the Rebellion before you. You pat yourselves on the back and say you’re helping the galaxy. But you never actually seem to save people when they need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbidden, Poe’s fading consciousness conjured up an image of his mother- not as he tried to remember her, but towards the end. He wondered if, when he died, he would feel himself joining her in the Force, or if that kind of awareness was only for Jedi. Maybe he would just be atoms. He couldn’t save her. He’d loved her, but he couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save his father from the loss of her…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might think you’re a hero,” Wredcris was still going, “but the best you’ll ever do is save Eli by giving him your parts. And rest assured, I’ll make sure you feel every moment of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get away with this,” Poe hissed. “Even if… even if you kill me, the New Republic knows I’ve been kidnapped. They’ll come looking. They’ll…” speaking was becoming a monumental effort. He couldn’t keep it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one is coming for you, dear.” Wredcris purred. “These are the Unknown Regions. They could search for an eon and never find me. You’re going to die here. No one is coming to save y-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of blinding red light exploded from the corner of Poe’s vision, cutting off Wredcris’s rant with a deadly blast of energy. She crumpled to the ground in an instant, leaving only a silhouette, an after image as his tired eyes tried to adjust to the sudden presence and absence of light. There was another flash and a mechanical screech as the same shooter took out the astromech. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a bloody madwoman,” a familiar voice remarked dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poe couldn’t quite see Armitage as his eyes were still recovering from the blaster’s flash, but he heard the soft thud of a bag being thrown down, felt the long, cool fingers that almost gingerly found his shoulder to help him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two men stood awkwardly for a moment, in the middle of the carnage, neither quite steady enough on his feet to support the other properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, Poe found his voice. “I’m gonna call for help from the New Republic,” he said, “but it’ll take them a while to get out here. Probably just enough time for you to tell me what’s in that bag.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another slightly late update! I'm so glad you all enjoyed the horror elements in the last chapter, but I promise things are a little more light hearted this time! There will be an accompanying illustration as usual, but it'll come later in the week as I have a lot of commission work to do at the moment. Thank you as always for your wonderful comments and your kudos!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>— Armitage—</p><p>They were sat facing one another on the bridge of Wredcris’s ship. It had seemed a better place to talk than the cargo hold where the doctor’s body lay. Poe had insisted on covering her with a tarp before they left, and they had done the same for what remained of Elian Wredcris when they found him on the way to the bridge. It was just the two of them now, at least until the New Republic arrived.</p><p>“Okay,” Dameron said, leaning forward and folding his hands in his lap, “a deal’s a deal. What's in the bag?” </p><p>The pilot looked half a corpse himself - skin ashen and slick with sweat, dark circles beneath heavy eyes that would put Armitage even at his most sleep deprived to shame.</p><p>Armitage grimaced, but there was no point in putting off the conversation further. “Plans,” he said, staring fixedly at the floor, “plans for the most dangerous weapon in the galaxy. The Starkiller.”</p><p>“Starkiller,” Poe repeated as if tasting the word and finding it bitter. “You were building it for the First Order?”</p><p>“Not building it. Not net. We-they- it was still in the planning stages. We’d only built models, but I- I made sure none of the models worked. No one but me has seen the final design - the one that would actually work.” His palms were sweating profusely, and he wondered if it was nerves or the drugs still in his system, working their way out through his pores.</p><p>“And what,” the other man's voice faltered, not angry, but deathly grim, “what would it do if it worked? The Starkiller?”</p><p>“It would do what no one’s ever been able to do before,” despite himself a note of pride had slipped into his voice, “not before I discovered a way. It would harvest and store dark energy in the form of quintessence - feeding off of stars and converting that energy to pure power. The Empire had been researching the possible mechanisms for harvesting and storing quintessence, but no one had found a proper method for containing such volatile energy until I-”</p><p>“Armitage,” Poe cut him off. His eyes, when Armitage dared to meet them, were hot and dark as coals. “What does it <em> do </em>?”</p><p>Again, Armitage looked down at the floor, sweaty palms gripping the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he answered, his voice half a whisper. “At its full power, it could obliterate an entire star system in one fell swoop.”</p><p>He didn't look at Poe, but his silence was clear enough.</p><p>At last the other man spoke. “Why would you make something like that?”</p><p>“I-” </p><p>He couldn't tell Poe everything- couldn't tell him how when he had presented his plans for Starkiller, it had been the first time anyone had looked at him with any kind of respect - the first time they had seen him as anything other than Brendol Hux’s bastard son- some kitchen woman's whelp, thin as a slip of paper and just as useless. Starkiller had made him useful. It had made him invaluable. It had promised him safety. Who would dare touch the man who secured the galaxy for the Order? Not to mention it promised rank. He thought the title of General Hux would fit him much better than it did his father. He thought Grand Marshal Hux would fit him even better - or at least he <em> had </em>thought all that before he realized what the cost of those titles really was. He had no rank now, but at least he might be able to sleep at night. Still, he couldn't say any of that to Poe. Not without revealing himself to be a weakling and a coward. Not without opening himself up for ridicule, or worse. He settled instead on a half truth - the reasoning that came from his better nature. Even so, he crossed his arms defensively as he spoke, and delivered his answer more to the floor than to Dameron.</p><p>“I wanted to bring peace,” he said, “to end the New Republic’s reign of chaos and prevent an all out war. A weapon like Starkiller need only be fired once, even just on an uninhabited system, and no one would dare oppose the First Order.” <em> And a fleet of them stationed across the galaxy could secure the First Order’s power for a millennium </em>. But he didn't say that either. “But I- I realized not all in the Order shared my intentions. If I were to build it, it wouldn't be used for the enforcement of peace, only for unnecessary cruelty and violence. And then you came along and I saw my out. I’m the only one with the proper plans. I made sure of that, and I took them with me. No one will get their hands on Starkiller now. The First Order will take years to reverse engineer my work.”</p><p>Dameron was quiet for a long time. Long enough for Armitage to become conscious of his own heartbeat, heavy in his chest. It had slowed since he had received that shot of adrenaline, and now it seemed labored in its beating. He was no doctor, but he suspected the overdose of painkillers followed by the jolt of adrenaline couldn't have been good for the organ. He would need medical attention when the New Republic arrived - that is, if they didn't throw him in prison… or worse…</p><p>“So that's why the First Order wants you dead,” the other man spoke at last, “you could spill the beans to the whole galaxy about what they’re building.”</p><p>“Precisely,” said Armitage. He would never forget the way Petty Officer Mitaka had looked at him as he'd given the order to fire on him - the way his father had commanded it without a glimmer of hesitation. He had always thought Starkiller would make him untouchable, but it had only made him a target.</p><p>“Look,” said Poe, his voice softer than Armitage expected- softer than he deserved, “you saved my life back there, so your secret’s safe with me. I won't say anything about what you just told me to the New Republic when they get here. They might still ask you about the First Order, but it'll be a few quick questions and they'll let you go. You can keep on running, if that's what you want, but for what it's worth, I think you should tell all this to the New Republic. You said it yourself, the First Order’ll try to reverse engineer it even with you gone. It might take them a long time, but a hundred years from now is too soon for someone to have that kind of power.”</p><p><em> Wasn't risking my life to get away with these plans enough of a good deed for you? </em> Armitage thought bitterly. <em> Do I really have to throw myself at the mercy of the New Republic and give them a reason to have me killed? </em></p><p>For most of his life, like every other child in the Order, Armitage had had hardly any insight into the galaxy beyond the Unknown Regions. The one exception to that had been the holonews reels they were shown during assemblies at the academy. It was always bad news- chaotic views into a galaxy run amok under the New Republic - riots and crime scene images and executions. He had seen what the New Republic had done with captured Imperials, whether it be firing squads executing so-called ‘war criminals’ or Wookie villages displaying the severed heads of troopers and officers alike on spikes outside. He didn’t want to know what this savage galaxy might do to someone like him.</p><p>“I’ll destroy the plans if that’s what you want,” his tone was almost pleading, though he tried to keep his dignity, “I'll lie low, I'll never design anything again, you have my word!”</p><p>“Look,” said Poe “the way I see it, if you have the power to stop something terrible from happening, and you do nothing to stop it, that's the same as doing that terrible thing yourself. If you bring those plans to the New Republic, tell them everything, you could stop the First Order before they have a chance to reverse engineer Starkiller. If you don't, and they build it, if they use it, that blood is on your hands.”</p><p>Armitage felt anger rise, hot and humming in his cheeks, riding on the back of his desperation and eclipsing it. “I gave up everything to get my plans away from the First Order and risked my life again to get them back from Doctor Wredcris. She'd seen them, you know, had them laid out on her desk. Imagine how many lives I saved getting them back from her! And now you're asking me to turn myself over to your sham of a government- so they can execute me or throw me in prison? I won't do it, Dameron, you can't make me!” His voice had risen to a shrill shout and with it he had risen to his feet, letting the blanket fall. It hurt to shout - made his rib cage ache like it would collapse in on itself, but he paid it no mind until his tirade was over and he was left gasping.</p><p>For a moment Poe just stared at him, dumbfounded. Then, infuriatingly, his face creased into a smile. He even chuckled at Armitage, though that seemed to cause him pain. </p><p>“They're not gonna kill you, Hugs,” he said. “Or throw you in prison. You're an informer - there's protections in place for that. Trust me, I helped a lot of informants when I was undercover with the Spice Runners. Pretty much all of them were way worse than you - actually hardened criminals - and half of them never even saw the inside of a cell. You'll be fine,” he reached up to clap Armitage on the wrist - the furthest he could reach from his seated position, “just… maybe tone down the whole ‘sham government’ and 'reign of chaos’ thing, you know? It's a little much.”</p><p>Armitage scowled, but sat back down. His legs were weak and quaking from the strain of the ordeal, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to stalk off if he tried. He didn't trust Poe Dameron - not really. Part of him wanted to - his dark eyes were difficult to refuse - but he couldn't. The Republic pilot was no better than anyone else. He wanted something from Armitage, and no doubt the moment he got it he'd disappear and throw him to the wolves. Others had tried to beat Armitage into submission. Poe was trying to charm him, but the end result would be the same if he wasn't careful.</p><p>“You're gonna be fine,” the other man said, putting a warm hand on his shoulder now that he was in reach. Armitage bristled at the touch, but didn't pull away. Didn't have the strength. “I won't force you to do anything, but I hope you'll do the right thing.”</p><p>If only Armitage knew what the right thing was. A few days ago he had been so sure of what was right. The First Order was good, the New Republic evil and chaotic. And yes Snoke choked him and his father belittled him and High Command spoke of doing unspeakable things with his Starkiller, but it was all in the service of the greater good. But at some point doubt had wormed its way into his brain like a parasite. Now he knew with a certainty he wished he did not have, that Starkiller was wrong. No one should have that power, least of all someone like Snoke. The Order was still good. He knew it was; it had to be, but what they proposed to do with Starkiller - he knew with every fiber of his being it was evil. And he still knew that the Republic was wrong. It was evil and corrupt. He'd seen the evidence in those newsreels at the academy. But Poe wasn't evil. Poe had saved his life, even when he didn't have to, and his hands were warm and comforting, and his smile was genuine…</p><p>If someone had told Armitage then that stars orbited planets and sarlaccs were house pets, he might have believed them, for the whole galaxy seemed to be turned inside out and upside down.</p><p>“We’ll see.” He said.</p><p>And that was the end of it. They were both tired beyond tired, the events of the day finally catching up to them. Poe was short a kidney and Armitage had several broken ribs after the crash out of hyperspace, not to mention the cocktail of toxic chemicals still in his veins. They had no more energy to speak, and so they said little else until the New Republic arrived.</p><p>Armitage was too exhausted to be anxious as two blue uniformed soldiers helped him to his feet. Still, he kept his rucksack clutched to his bare chest like it contained his own beating heart. Someone had given him a blanket. Not the one Poe had handed him in Wredcris’s medbay, but a new, heavier one. <em> A shock blanket </em> , he realized, <em> but I'm not in shock. I'm alert as ever. </em> </p><p>But then he blinked and some unknown amount of time had passed and he was in a medbay, with harsh white light shining down on him.</p><p><em> Not another medbay… </em> his thoughts would have been panicked if they weren't moving so slowly. Had he only dreamed he escaped Wredcris? Were those blue uniformed republic soldiers just figments of his imagination? Was that last conversation with Poe? His worst fears were confirmed when he turned to one side and saw an IV protruding from his arm. He wouldn't be poisoned again!</p><p>That got his mind working quicker, and he sat up - the noted lack of pain in his ribs just further proof that he was being dosed with more painkillers. He clawed clumsily at his wrist, attempting to tear the needle from his flesh, but got nowhere before blue gloved hands were prying his fingers from the device.</p><p>“No!” He cried, struggling weakly against the set of arms. “No! I won't let you drug me again!”</p><p>“Please, Mister Hux,” someone urged him in a voice that was decidedly not that of doctor Wredcris or her cyborg, “please calm down. No one is trying to drug you.”</p><p>He stopped actively struggling, but stayed tense against the grip as he looked up at his assailant. It was then he realized this other being had not been wearing blue gloves. It was his skin. He was staring up into the amber eyes and pale blue face of a pantoran.</p><p>He hadn't seen many aliens growing up. The First Order had maintained the Empire's doctrine of human supremacy. The only times Armitage had come in contact with other species had been at trading posts or when the Order contracted outside workers as maintenance crews or bounty hunters, and even then it was from afar. <em> Bloody fancy-faces </em> Brendol Hux had called them. Except for Snoke, of course, though whether he was human or alien no one quite seemed to know, and it hardly mattered with power like his.</p><p>The pantoran doctor had a soft, round face that might have been comforting on a human man. There were gold markings beneath his eyes, which creased as he gave Armitage an encouraging smile.</p><p>“There you go,” the doctor said as he ceased his struggling. “There're no drugs. That's a detox solution to flush the last of the poison from your system. We’ve fixed your ribs too. Give it one more day and you'll be right as rain.”</p><p>“I've heard that one before,” Armitage quipped, “right before that mad doctor tried to poison me.”</p><p>“I understand your suspicions,” the doctor said in an infuriatingly gentle tone one might use to soothe a feral kitten, “but you're in the New Republic’s care now, Mister Hux, you're quite safe.”</p><p>That got a scoff out of him. But as soon as he expressed his derision, another emotion came up on its heels and overtook it.</p><p>“Where did you take my bag?” He demanded, finally sitting all the way up. “Where is it?”</p><p>The doctor's condescending ‘soothing’ smile faltered at that. </p><p>“I'm afraid it's being held at the moment.”</p><p>“Held?!” Armitage demanded. They really must have fixed his ribs because his anger bubbled up white hot in his chest, unobstructed by pain. “Held where? On whose authority?” </p><p>The round blue face darkened, even as he attempted to keep his smile. “It's being held for inspection by the NRI, I'm afraid. It's been classified as evidence.”</p><p>“Evidence? Evidence of wh-” blood was pounding in Armitage's ears now. “Where is Poe Dameron?” He demanded, rising from the bed on legs that quaked but did not crumble beneath him. Poe had promised not to tell anyone about Starkiller. He had promised to leave it up to Armitage. “Tell me where he is! I'm going to throttle that lying son of a-”</p><p>“This had nothing to do with Lieutenant Dameron. It’s protocol to search anyone coming aboard a New Republic vessel. I'm sure you can understand…”</p><p><em> Lieutenant? </em>They had given the scoundrel a promotion for this!</p><p>“No, I bloody well don't understand! I'm not a part of your sham of a Republic and I won't be subject to your arbitrary searches. I demand you give me back my property and if you can't do that, then you’d better let me speak to somebody who can!”</p><p><em> “Just tone it down with the whole ‘sham government’ thing,” </em>Poe Dameron had warned him. But the pantoran doctor didn't look angry. He wished the other man would look angry. Instead, he gave him a smile which might have been intended as encouragement, but felt only like new condescension.</p><p>“You <em> are </em>recovering well,” he said. “If you feel up to it, the Director would like to speak to you. She would be the one to ask about your bag and its… contents.”</p><p><em> The director </em> … that must be Tolo Mandah, the director of the New Republic Intelligence Service - the one who sent Poe on his idiotic mission undercover with the Spice Runners - and she had his Starkiller plans. Whether or not Poe Dameron had meant to lie to him, he had as good as doomed him - delivered him straight into the belly of the beast. He wished he’d never met Poe. If they had never crossed paths - if he had never seen an opportunity to desert, he never would have left the Order. He was too much of a coward to run off of his own accord. He would have stayed the course - killed his guilt and scourged himself of doubt. He would have given Snoke the correct plans, and right now he'd be back in the <em> Finalizer </em> drinking warm tea in his quarters. He could never go back now. He was trapped.</p><p>Something of his anxiety must have shown in his face, because the doctor gave a concerned frown. “Of course if you aren't feeling up to meeting the director just yet, you're more than welcome to wait.” He offered.</p><p>“No,” Armitage snapped, trying to salvage his dignity by burying his embarrassment in haughtiness, “I'll see her at once, just as soon as I get some proper clothes.”</p><p>He looked down at his hospital gown - some tiny part of him shriveling in shame that someone must have stripped him as his old undergarments were gone.</p><p>The clothes that the doctor provided him with offered little more dignity than the hospital gown. A pair of grey trousers, several sizes too large, which looked ridiculous, even belted, and a black rough spun overshirt that made every unprotected inch of skin it touched itch terribly. At least they had boots in his size, though they still rubbed painfully against the backs of his ankles. </p><p>He missed his uniform- missed wearing his rank on his sleeve. Whatever people might call him to belittle him - <em> weakling, bastard, useless </em> - it didn't matter. His rank - his worth was right there. Now he had nothing. Was nothing. Even if he had a uniform, the rank would be false. He didn't belong to any army or anything else. He was just Armitage Hux, and Armitage Hux was nothing at all.</p><p>In the refresher, he did what he could with his hair. Too proud to ask for hair gel, he was reduced to wetting his fingers and doing what he could to tame it that way. </p><p><em> Look at you </em> , he thought in his father's voice as he studied himself, disheveled, disorderly… <em> treason doesn't suit you. </em> Even his eyes were wrong. He couldn't kill the fear behind them.</p><p>The doctor again tried plying him with more rest - a meal. Armitage <em> was </em>hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but he didn't think his nerves would allow him to eat or to rest. Not until he met with the director and learned what was to become of him. At last he left the medbay, accompanied by a blue-uniformed soldier. The man had a blaster pistol holstered at his side. If Armitage took him by surprise, he was sure he could wrest the gun away and shoot his captor before he had a chance to react. But then what? He was alone, a stranger in a strange place. From what he could tell, this ship was a heavy cruiser, but well armed and well manned, and when he caught a glimpse of a viewport, there was only hyperspace outside. No, for now he would stay put and take stock of his situation.</p><p>“Poe Dameron says you saved his life,” the soldier said. He had a hard, square face half-hidden by a bristly black beard, but it wasn't an entirely unfriendly visage.</p><p>“It's true, I did.” Said Armitage. <em> And he saved mine too, more than once. </em> But that he kept to himself.</p><p>“Are you one of those spice runners, then?” They were ascending in a stark white lift.</p><p>“I most certainly am not!” Armitage snapped and almost added <em> I’ll have you know I am a captain of the First Order! </em></p><p>The soldier either ignored or disbelieved him. “I heard Poe Dameron was shacked up with that Zorii Bliss for the last four years. Heard that's why he let her escape. C’mon, be honest, is it true? It's true, isn't it?”</p><p>“I haven't the faintest idea,” Armitage snapped, “nor do I care to know. Does the army of the New Republic really have nothing better to do than speculate about some flyboy’s sordid sex life?”</p><p>He didn't care. He didn't, whatever that traitor thing twisting in his guts might say, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk about it. </p><p>The soldier seemed chastened, saying nothing else as they exited the lift into another long hall - this one seeming to mostly be made up of offices. Blue uniformed officers passed them in the hall, Armitage's guard occasionally giving a salute.</p><p>With each passing moment, Armitage's heart beat louder and faster in his ears. This man did not seem to know who he was, though he knew he had saved Poe Dameron. He also did not seem to be treating Armitage as a prisoner - at least not a dangerous one. Perhaps that meant well for his meeting with Director Mandah, or perhaps it just meant his crimes had been kept a secret from the common soldiers.</p><p><em> The New Republic wants you dead for the very crime of your birth to a loyal imperial family </em> , his father had told him once when he was small, <em> the First Order is all you have now - all any of us have - and until we bring order back to the galaxy, there is no safe place for you outside the Unknown Regions. </em></p><p>Was that true? Would this Director Mandah have him killed no matter what? Would Starkiller just provide an excuse? It seemed that everyone he’d encountered since deciding to flee wanted him dead. Even Poe Dameron betrayed him. He must have - he would have known they were going to search his bag, and he said nothing - and that was assuming that pantoran doctor was telling the truth and Dameron hadn't simply told his superiors about Starkiller. </p><p>He was alone in the universe. </p><p>And there was the director’s office door, coming up to meet him as the soldier led him forward.</p><p>The bearded man stepped up to a panel beside the door and spoke into it.</p><p>“I've brought the man from the medbay like you asked, sir.” He said.</p><p>“Excellent,” a clipped, flat voice returned, “bring him in.”</p><p>At that, the door slid open. There was nowhere to go but forward.</p><p>The interior of the room was not the interrogation chamber he had half expected it to be, but an office. Neat and efficient without being spare. There was a desk of some warm dark wood, and several sleekly upholstered chairs in a light grey. The wall opposite him was almost entirely taken up by a large holo-display - a rotating bulletin of wanted posters. Armitage realized, with a tightening of his throat, that he knew some of them. There was Admiral Brooks, younger and thinner in the image, but sporting the same cruel smirk. He did not see his father, though, or himself. </p><p><em> Of course I'm not there </em> , he chastised himself, <em> I'm nobody, I've never been wanted by anyone. And besides, they already have me right where they want me. </em></p><p>The <em> they </em>in question was seated behind the wooden desk. She was a stern-faced woman in her middle age, though the white in her short-cropped hair made her seem older. She wore the same blue uniform he'd seen on other officers aboard the ship. And she wasn't alone. There was another woman behind her, perhaps a decade younger than Mandah, dressed in practical civilian clothes with greying brown hair wound in an elaborate braid behind her head. </p><p>“Take a seat, Mister Hux,” said the director. Her voice was deep and brusque and left no room for argument. “And you,” she addressed the man who had brought Armitage, “you're dismissed, soldier.” </p><p>“Yes sir, Director Mandah.” He saluted and cast a silent, awestruck look at the other woman behind the desk. “Prin-Senator.” He stuttered, nodding and quickly backing out of the office.</p><p>The man hadn't been much of a companion, but Armitage felt more alone than ever as he took a seat in one of the grey chairs.</p><p>“Mister Hux,” said the director, “I am Tolo Mandah, director of the New Republic Intelligence Service. This is-”</p><p>“I know who you are,” Armitage blurted out before he could stop himself. “You're Leia Organa.” <em> The former princess of Alderaan. The Hutt slayer. The rebel terrorist who helped destroy the Death Star. </em> Why was she here? What was going to happen to him?</p><p>She was shorter than he expected, but no less intimidating, her posture dignified yet relaxed, a kind of knowing half-smirk playing at her eyes and mouth.</p><p>“He's looking at me like he thinks I'm going to bite his head off,” she said to the director.</p><p>Director Mandah acknowledged the comment with a slight huff that might have been a laugh, but remained stone faced as she regarded Armitage. “Let me begin by saying, Mister Hux, that you are not a prisoner here. This is not an interrogation.”</p><p><em> And my name isn't Armitage Hux, and space isn't black. </em>But he said nothing and nodded stiffly.</p><p>“Senator Organa and I simply wish to talk - to clarify the picture painted by Poe Dameron's report. Lieutenant Dameron’s mission with the Kijimi Spice Runners was a costly and important undertaking for us,” the director said. “Years of careful infiltration - half a dozen other operatives in the field making sure Dameron's mission went off without a hitch, all of it building towards a sting which would have brought down Zorii Bliss and her cartel. I don’t need to tell you how that ended. Now Zorii Bliss is loose. She’ll regroup with her cartel and they'll close ranks. It could be years before we get another shot at catching her.”</p><p>Armitage found himself shrinking beneath the director’s withering gaze. She wasn't going to hit him; he told himself, or choke him. She wasn't his commanding officer, either. Still, he hated to be chastised, and it made shame boil up in his stomach, heating his cheeks.</p><p>“Now,” the woman went on, “it isn't a crime to be stupid, or to impede an operation you had know way of knowing about, but it will have long-lasting consequences for the galaxy. Lives will be lost - who knows how many. But the mission was not a complete and abject failure. You see, Poe Dameron brought back information about a secret Imperial Remnant, militarizing illegally in the Unknown Regions. He could only give us a small piece of the whole picture, but even that was enough to tell us that this First Order is a serious threat. That is where we hope you can help us, Mister Hux. We believe you might be in a unique position to elucidate the scope of this threat for us.”</p><p>“You're mistaken,” Armitage snapped, his mouth hardening as he formed a mask to cover up his fear. “True, I served in the First Order. I arrested Zorii Bliss and Poe Dameron and I traded Dameron’s freedom for my safety, but I'm only a captain. I'm hardly privy to the sorts of secrets you're asking for.” <em> I didn't leave the First Order to turn traitor. I might be a coward, but I'm no turncoat. </em></p><p>“Even if that's true,” the director said, “you could still be a great help to us, if you chose to.”</p><p>“For example, I'm pretty sure you could tell us a thing or two about Project Starkiller,” it was Leia Organa who spoke now, producing something from behind Director Mandah’s desk as she spoke. A rolled up ream of graphed paper. “If these plans we found in your bag are anything to go by.”</p><p>Armitage forced his face to remain inscrutable, but it was a hard won battle. He had maintained his composure while hiding things from Supreme Leader Snoke - a mind reader - why did he suddenly find it so difficult with her?</p><p>“I don't know what those are.” He said cooly, “you say you found them in my bag? Perhaps that madwoman Doctor Wredcris put them thereafter she captured us. I don't know what that jumped-up flyboy Poe Dameron might have told you, but I've never heard of this 'Project Starkiller’ in my life.”</p><p> Armitage hated himself for even beginning to trust the other man. He had never been the sort to be fooled by a handsome face and a cocky attitude before but clearly his loyalty to the Order wasn't the only thing that was weak… still if he saw Dameron again there was nothing that could shake his resolve to punch him square in that stupid handsome face.</p><p>“Poe didn't tell us anything about Starkiller,” said Senator Organa, a sharp gleam in her eyes. “He had nothing but good things to say about Armitage Hux, but I'm starting to think he must've been talking about someone else.”</p><p>Armitage had nothing to say to that, but he felt his traitor cheeks flushing pink. </p><p>“You can't prove anything with that scrap paper,” he snapped, “even if it were mine, it could be anything- a thought experiment - a simple doodle.”</p><p>“You're right,” Senator Organa allowed, “if you say you've never seen these plans before, and you don't know anything about the First Order, we can't force you to tell the truth. You aren't a prisoner, and you haven't sworn any oath. We could send you on your way once we get to Hosnian Prime, and that'll be the end of it. For a while, anyway. Then in a few years, the First Order will overstep - or someone else will build this Starkiller - or something like it - and there's going to be a war. Millions of people will die - maybe trillions, if this super weapon actually goes off.” </p><p>She was looking at him with bright, indomitable eyes. He thought he saw the destruction of Alderaan in those eyes. Was she looking at him even now and thinking of the Death Star? Thinking of Tarkin? His father and his cohort of old Imperials often called Leia Organa <em> princess </em> as a way to diminish her, but there was always a current of fear underneath it. <em> She strangled Jabba the Hutt with his own chain </em> , they were all thinking, <em> she lied to Lord Vader’s face and lived </em>. She might be a princess, a senator, largely fair and just even by the grudging admission of imperials, but cross her, underestimate her, and it was at your own peril.</p><p>“I would say at least some of that blood’s on your hands,” she went on, voice level and sardonic as ever despite her bright eyes, “but then I can't really blame you if you don't care. You're not likely to live long enough to see that happen. Poe tells me your First Order friends aren't too keen on letting you get out alive. He was pretty insistent that we keep you safe - give you protections as an informant - but you understand, we can't do that unless you actually inform. </p><p>“There have been rumors for years about a militarized group of imperial remnants out in the Unknown Regions, but nothing substantial enough to convince the senate to take action. That's where you come in. If you testify to the senate, tell them everything you know about the First Order and this Project Starkiller, that would do it. The New Republic would have to act. We could stop this thing before it becomes a war.”</p><p>Armitage searched for his voice, but couldn't find it. He felt as though he could see the universe closing in on him - crushing his vision to a tight, dark tunnel with only a pinprick of light at the end. He was done for no matter what he did. If he agreed to inform on the Order as the senator suggested, he would be incriminating himself. They would use him to get intelligence on the Order and then they would lock him up, or worse. Even if it was true that Poe Dameron had tried to argue in his favor, what could one pilot do to sway the whole evil, corrupt New Republic? And if he didn't agree - if he went off on his own, the Order would kill him. He could never escape. He was only one weak, cowardly man without rank or status or purpose. He was worthless. He had been a fool to hope, a fool to run, a fool to-</p><p>“Armitage Hux,” Senator Organa spoke again, but this time her voice was soft, “I thought I recognized your name. Your father is Brendol Hux, isn't he? He was the commandant at the academy on Arkanis. Disappeared during the siege. How old were you when he took you away?”</p><p><em> Why would she ask about that? </em>Armitage wondered. If she hoped to use him as a bargaining chip with his father, then she would be sorely disappointed. </p><p>“I was five years old,” he said.</p><p>“Five,” the older woman repeated, shaking her head. “Wow. You’ve never known a life without this First Order, have you? Never been exposed to the outside universe. All that, but you still left. You know what that tells me?”</p><p>Armitage shook his head warily. He resented the implication that he was naïve- that he didn't know what he was doing.</p><p>“You left the First Order for a reason. You helped Poe Dameron for a reason. You knew what was right, even with everything you've ever known working against you, and you did it. That's a hard thing to do, and a brave thing. No one could blame you for being scared now, but you know this is the right thing to do. You’ve got to be brave.”</p><p><em> I'm not scared! </em> He wanted to shout. <em> The likes of you could never scare me! </em> But another voice echoed in his mind, from another time- from an eon ago.</p><p><em> I am scared, sir. </em> A small boy, thin as a slip of paper and just as useless, had whispered, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the clangor of battle outside. The Empire was falling; he had been taken from his home, his father who hated him had left him on this shuttle with a troop of child soldiers and <em> him </em> - Counselor Rax - the late Emperor’s heir who had promised to lead them to safety.</p><p><em> Yes, that is wise, </em> Rax had told the boy, eyes hungry as if he were feeding on the child’s terror. <em> Fear is useful when it guides us, but it is dangerous when it governs us. Do you understand? </em></p><p>Armitage hadn't understood then, but he thought he might now. He has been governed by fear his whole life- since he was a child struggling not to wet himself in fear at the Counselor's words. </p><p>Surely, if Rax knew what he would become, he would have left that little boy to die on Jakku. But Rax had never lived to see the Unknown Regions, though he must have known what he was sending them off to find there. </p><p>“I'm not so naïve as you think. I’ve seen reports on the state of the galaxy,” said Armitage defensively, “I know what a sorry job your bloated New Republic is doing. But a war would be worse, and Starkiller… I never meant it to be used against civilians, but if <em> they </em> had it their way… Yes, I knew it was wrong. I had to get the plans out of their reach. I don't care if you win - but they-” <em> father, Snoke, Brooks, Pryde, the whole of High Command, </em>“I want them to lose.”</p><p>The two women exchanged a look, and Senator Organa smiled. </p><p>“Good enough for me,” she said. “Though I think you might change your tune about the New Republic once you see it for yourself. There's a lot there for a kid like you. But in the meantime, let's get down to business.”</p><p>Armitage had meant to keep some of his cards close to his chest - <em> if they know everything I know, then there's no point in keeping me alive </em>- but in the end it all came tumbling out. Even things neither woman asked him.</p><p>He told them about the fleet, about his father’s stormtrooper program and about Snoke. With every new detail, the two women’s faces grew darker and more concerned, and at the mention of the Supreme Leader’s Force powers, Senator Organa let out a low gasp.</p><p>“I’ve sensed something was off in the Force for some time now. Luke will need to hear about this.”</p><p><em> She must be talking about Luke Skywalker! </em> Armitage’s breath hitched. It was one thing to grudgingly collaborate with the New Republic - but a real Jedi? No. He’d seen and felt enough of the Force to mistrust all its users, no matter how just they claimed to be. He’d heard that Skywalker could manipulate a person’s mind with the wave of a hand, that he’d murdered the Emperor and Lord Vader. Even the thought of it made the bruises at his neck ache. Still, it might be that it would take magic to defeat magic.</p><p>“Thank you, Armitage,” Senator Organa said at last, “you've given us a great deal to discuss. We’re on track to reach Hosnian Prime by tomorrow morning. Once we’re there, you'll be put up in a secure apartment while I make arrangements to get you in front of the Senate. You'll have free run of the city, with a guard to ensure your safety, of course. It should be an exciting new experience for you. Until then, I've sent word for your things to be sent to one of our guest quarters. Someone will be here to show you the way.”</p><p>Armitage rose to his feet, and only then realized that his legs were shaking like two twigs in a gale. It was all he could do to remain standing as all his doubts came rushing back to his head. He was a traitor, a turncoat, a coward. He had sold out the First Order to save his own skin, and for what? It wasn't as if the New Republic could actually defeat the Order. He'd die anyway, only now he was a traitor as well as a deserter. <em> This is the right thing, </em> he tried to convince himself, <em> this is a brave thing too. </em>But he didn't want to be brave, or right. He wanted to be safe. He wanted to forget all of this.</p><p>Just then the door slid open behind him, and he spun round to see the clean-shaven and slightly sheepish face of Poe Dameron. He had traded his old faded underwear for a crisp blue officer's uniform, and his dark curls looked as though they had been washed and even somewhat tamed. </p><p><em> So the scoundrel can be made a soldier </em> , he raised his eyebrows, <em> and a dashing one at that… </em></p><p>The second thought came as a stowaway on the coattails of the first, and he cursed it.</p><p>
  <em>  I heard Poe Dameron was shacked up with that Zorii Bliss for the last four years. Heard that's why he let her escape.  </em>
</p><p>“Good to see you again, Senator Organa!” The other man acknowledged Organa with a wide but professional smile and a nod. “You too, Director Mandah.” At last he saw fit to acknowledge Armitage. “Hey Hugs,” he said, “they've set you up some rooms on the guest level, I'll show you the way.”</p><p>Armitage would almost rather be abandoned to find his way alone in the massive ship, but he sensed he didn't really have a choice.</p><p>“Well then,” he said, turning back to the two women, “good evening Director, Senator.”</p><p>And with that, he clasped his hands behind his back and forced his shaking legs to carry him with some semblance of poise.</p><p>“You look better,” he said flatly once the director's door closed again, leaving him and Dameron alone in the white hallway.</p><p>
  <em> I heard Poe Dameron was shacked up with that Zorii Bliss for the last four years. Heard that's why he let her escape. </em>
</p><p>“Thanks,” the other man grinned, setting a brisk pace towards the lift. “I feel better. A lot better, actually. Better than I have in a long time. Got a whole new synthetic kidney to thank for that.” At that he slapped his abdomen the way one might slap the side of an especially prized starfighter. </p><p>As he did so, Armitage caught sight of fresh white bandages wrapped around his knuckles. <em> When had he been hurt there? </em>But before he could think too hard about it, Poe’s bandaged hand was clapping him lightly on the shoulder, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary. </p><p>“You're not looking too bad yourself, Hugs, good to see you up and about again.”</p><p>
  <em> I heard Poe Dameron was shacked up with that Zorii Bliss for the last four years. Heard that's why he let her escape.  </em>
</p><p>When Armitage said nothing in reply, Dameron’s expression shifted slightly.</p><p>“So,” he said, “what did you tell them?”</p><p>“Everything,” Armitage said as they entered the lift, the small space forcing them closer together. He caught a whiff of some scented aftershave as Poe stepped nearer. “I told them everything. Senator Organa plans to have me stay on Hosnian Prime and testify to your senate. I hope you're happy.” He added that last comment with a sniff and a stern grimace.</p><p>Poe’s ambiguous expression resolved itself into a smile “I am,” he said, “you did the right thing, Armitage. I'm glad.” But his voice was far away.</p><p>And again the comment echoed in Armitage’s mind - worming its way under his skin despite his firm insistence that he didn't care - shouldn't care - had no reason to care:</p><p>
  <em> I heard Poe Dameron was shacked up with that Zorii Bliss for the last four years. Heard that's why he let her escape. </em>
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